#office santa

[kth1]

Office Santa (M) [JJK]

Office Santa [Jungkook x Female Reader]

⟶ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader ⟶ Genre: Office!Au, Holiday Party!Au, Christmas!Au, PWP, One-Shot, 18+ ⟶ WC: 7.4k+ ⟶ Warnings: alcohol, swearing, oral (m), fingering, small tit-play, unprotected sex, etc ⟶ Summary: On the verge of leaving the office Christmas party, you find a reason to stay just a little bit longer. ⟶ Author’s Note: This came to me on a whim. It’s been a long while since I’ve written for Jungkook, so I’m happy I finally could muster something for you readers! Currently I have not gotten a beta, please excuse any grammar mistakes. If you see something, kindly message me and help your girl out. Other than that, please enjoy this little fic!

Masterlist ⁂ Mail Box 

It’s your typical, over the top, annual Christmas office party. Suffering at the hands of HTU Tech’s lame excuse to extend congratulations to their employees for pouring endless hours of their life to keep the company on the ground. Being a lead systems engineer isn’t exactly what you wanted for yourself, but it comes easy when you surpass all your education with flying colors. It immediately landed you a career with one of the most renowned internet companies, and shortly after being hired you moved up the rankings.

But enough about you. You can care less about going on with your achievements as you aimlessly sip your dry martini. The olive speared stirrer gives you entertainment as you pretend to listen to your coworkers speak among another. Your true entertainment lands on the male standing across the busy room with his blonde hair teased and tucked behind a jeweled ear – showing off the dark undercut that hides beneath. The color is toned and perfectly compliments his gorgeous skin shade; you’ve always had thoughts of asking him who his hairdresser is. 

He wears all black. A silk button up with sleeves rolled up his forearms and tucked in at the waist, secured with a belt with a gold chape. Drawings of black ink tattooed into his skin peek out on his right forearm — you have never once seen them all in their full beauty or how deliciously far up they roam on his body. But you would give a thousand hours, maybe more, of your precious time to find out.

He’s your supervisor, Jeon Jungkook. At the ripe age of 30, he is the youngest chief technical officer known to the area. His father, the CEO of the company is to thank for his current status. But from all you know of Jungkook, he’s a perfectionist at heart. If he couldn’t handle the stresses of a CTO, he probably wouldn’t be placed in such a position.

You have no complaints on the matter. Month in and month out, you’re greeted with his presence. And boy, do you have a massive crush on this stallion of a male. The funny thing is, you don’t need to admit such admiration out in the open. Jungkook surely knows simply by the way you interact with him. With hopeless eyes and kind gestures of doing nearly everything he asks of you, he has you eating right out of the palms of his hands without even trying.

Jungkook entertains it – your crush. With subtle glints of flirtations and constantly blessing you with his attendance in your office. You would even dare to say he enjoys a good venting session. You’ve become something like an open ear for him, someone he can just speak with during work.

It’s only stayed within work too – the contact. Not once have you and Jungkook interacted outside these building walls. Neither one of you attempted to do so. And perhaps that’s best.

Because as the crowded office continues to fill with 200 of HTU Tech employees, you realize how large the world is. How many obstacles and potential roadblocks there can be if you even attempted to speak to Jungkook outside of a work occasion. The safety of finding out more of him would only be the times in your office while you diligently type away at your computer and hack and create codings.

Your martini disappears over the course of time as you continue to glance over at Jungkook who casually sips from his whiskey glass. It’s filled with scotch and an orange slice – called a Rusty Nail. You reckon he’s been tipping those back for hours now. All the while the party continues to exist and expand, stretching into the colder hours of the night.

Jungkook catches your eyes a few times. It always sends heat to your body and your heart begins racing. You want to blame the alcohol or the infuriating holiday lights gleaming down brightly, but you know the truth.

Even when you are never given a real sign of Jungkook’s interest in you, nothing concrete, you still hope there can be something. You cling onto the idea of him maybe one day slipping like when one steps on black ice. Hidden and deadly. Where your feet take out from under you and you land straight on your ass. That’s what you secretly crave and pray for.

A waiter comes over with a tray and another dry martini for you and you happily grab at the thin glass stem, bringing the liquid to your lips as you touch the rim. You’re not drinking your sorrows away, you’re just trying to enjoy the rest of the party before you depart back to your lonely apartment.

“And you still choose not to dance,” one of your closer coworkers, Jessi, comments. Her lips are pursed in displeasure.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you reply with a shrug.

The subtle heat burning down your throat from the alcohol is preferred in comparison to the pain your heels would endure if you danced the night away. Who wants their feet to be achy?

Jessi places a hand on your shoulder to give you an encouraging nudge, “I’m sure you’re lying.”

“It will be a secret you’ll never find out,” you stubbornly sit firm. You give her a brief warning look through the corner of your eyes, hoping she understands to not press you on the matter. “Besides, I’ll be heading out soon anyways. I’m getting uncomfortable being here longer than I need to be.”

A scoff resounds next to you, Jessi rolling her eyes while she admits defeat. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, leaning back into her chair as her eyes scan the dancefloor. It’s not that she needs you to go out there and enjoy herself, she’s perfectly fine on her own. But seeing her office buddy do nothing after dolling herself up is a bitter disappointment.

“I’m sure you’d catch the eye of you-know-who if you were out there.”

You shove yourself from the table, your chair protests with a skidding sound against the tiled floor below you. Your eyes snap to Jessi as you stand, gathering your minibag under your arm.

“I don’t need to dance to get his attention. I can easily have a conversation with him if I cared to. And I don’t,” you lie.

There’s a chime that rings from your cell phone. As you gather your coat from the back of your seat, you spy the notorious name on the bright screen in the palm of your hand. A small smirk grows on your lips before you chug the rest of your martini, letting the base of the glass on the table with a thud.

“See ya,” Jessi doesn’t spare you another glance. Already moved on to newer interests as her hand slides around the arm of the man sitting next to her. She knows she has lost you for the night, but unbothered by your quick withdrawal.

You gather yourself, walking away from the bulk of the party towards the stairs. With your nose in your phone, you walk your way towards your office one step at a time. Grinning ear to ear at the flutter of texts that gained your desperate attention.

[Superior J]: Where are you heading to?

[You]: Mind your business

[Superior J]: Is that any way to speak to your boss?

[You]: I didn’t realize I was texting the CEO…

[Superior J]: 🙄

[Superior J]: I’m still above you

[Superior J]: The gift exchange hasn’t happened yet

[You]: I know. 

[You]: I’m just grabbing my gift from my office and heading out after 👍

Your feet have brought you straight to the frame of your office door, distant from the busy gathering. Quiet. A white board with writing and magnets hang on the outside, notes and random drawings are littered across its expanse. Your freshly manicured fingers press into the keypad that unlocks your door with a special code – 0711 – and with the click of the door closing behind you you step further into your personal office.

Inside, you flick on a small light after you place your belongings on top of your desk. Aimless papers are scattered around, loads of your hard work on full display as you piece everything together like a diagram. The mess only makes sense to you; if any prying eyes dare to decipher what you have riddled all across your entire office, they’d be stuck in here all week.

One of your filing cabinets – the one decorated like a snowman made out of office supplies – holds the gift for your Secret Santa. You placed it here because it was easy to remember.

A bluetooth speaker and small flowering bonsai plant kit. It blossoms a blush toned flower during the spring and even during the fall with proper care. The wireless speaker is just an added bonus to the gift. You tied red and green ribbons around each of them, a bit lazy on your end but still maintained your festive requirements. You’re positive that your office-buddy, Namjoon — the one in the HR department, would enjoy these given his love for soft instrumental music and plant-life.

Two taps hit the other side of your office door. From the blurred glass you can see the silhouette of a person who shifts on their heels. You step up to the door, swinging it open to reveal a tall and handsome Jungkook, standing there with two empty glasses secured between his fingers and a highly expensive bottle of red wine in the other. He holds them up with a toothy grin on his face. Jungkook’s jaw slackens as he slowly eyes you up and down, running his tongue along his pearly whites. Your heart skips a beat when his gaze jumps to lock eyes with yours. You can clearly see the powerful, hungered vigor brewing in those deep brown irises that glint with mischief. One single eyebrow raise and you already lose any leverage you thought you could have on him.

There is a weakness you have towards a man who looks fine in a dress shirt and pants. Even more of a weakness with someone who has styled locks, a sharp jawline, determined nature, and an alternative edge to their appearance.

Almost like a bad boy who dresses up far too nicely. Where blacks, grays, and the occasional tans are his color pallet. Form fitting to his toned body which you can only guess he must have based on how the clothes fit on him.

You sigh in defeat, opening up a way for Jungkook to waltz right past you and into your office as if he owns the place. He settles the bottle and glasses on an open space on your desk, already twisting the top off and pouring the sinful liquid equally between the two full-bodied wine glasses. The bottle reads 1990 Chateau Petrus; the name alone sends a chill down the base of your spine.

“Not too much,” you refer to the glass half full. Your office door closes behind you as you walk towards the desk. “I’ve had plenty enough to drink tonight.”

Jungkook lifts your glass toward you, his ring clad fingers draw your sight instantly. “It’s expensive, I requested this one personally when we hired the open bar,” he announces. “You’ll enjoy it.”

You give him a sly look as you narrow your eyes at him, holding up the glass to your nose to inhale a quick whiff. To label the smell – it smells expressive and sophisticated, like a ripe fruit mixed with vanilla aromas. 

Almost like how you can describe the man who is standing in front of you.

He grins to himself as he waits to clink his glass with yours, a nonverbal cheer between the two of you – but for what? You don’t know. The dark red wine tastes extremely silky and mixed with a superb flavor concentration. Muscular but refined and toned. 

Almost just like how you think he must be under those black clothes.

The two of you tilt back a delicious portion of the liquid and each settle with a coquettish moan. An unnecessary sound for both of your ears, but neither one of you protest the act.

“Not bad,” you state as your eyes watch the liquid swirl in your glass.

“Better than those dry martinis you enjoyed yourself with,” Jungkook teases. He decides to sit in your chair as he lounges back to find himself in a comfortable position. His free hand begins to flick through random pieces of paper among your desk while avoiding the coat and purse you have plopped on the surface.

“Probably better than that pathetic excuse of that scotch you favor so much.”

You see how the playful bluntness fuels Jungkook to another level. It stirs something inside him and possibly that is why he confines in you more often than so.

“Want to tell me what these papers are all about?” He points a few packets stapled together. “Important or just brainstorming?”

“Brainstorming is important,” you admit. You snatch a clump of papers up with one hand, placing them to the side in a bin and away from Jungkook’s prying eyes. “You wouldn’t have a chance of understanding this. It’s all disorganized right now. Besides, we’re not working right now. So unless you want to pay me for discussing work-related things, then I suggest you change the topic.”

You watch as Jungkook refuses to look up at you as his eyes remain busy looking at your etchings and symbols written on your desk. His tongue prods the inside of his cheek ever-so-slightly, just enough to know you’re winding him up. The lines in his cheeks stand out when he sucks in. You would be stuck there for ages just staring at how attractive it is until the shine of his earrings catches your attention, glinting in the low lighted room.

“Fair enough,” he speaks. His wine glass is emptied into his mouth before placing it to the side. Finally, he is ready to give you his undivided attention. “Then talk to me about your choice of attire for tonight,” his hand points as he nods at you. “This,” — he smiles with his eyes as they trail you from head to toe — “Has nothing to do with work.”

A crushed burgundy velvet dress stretches around each curve of your body all the way down to your ankles. It’s cut from spaghetti straps, dipping low enough to tease any eye of your upper chest. Personally, you love the feeling of the fabric as you run your hands across it. Not only does it feel great, but it also tames your nerves whenever they act up — coaxing you calm. To match the lovely piece, you paired a black leather jacket with shiny silver buckles. Your heels help you stand taller, strapped around the front of your foot with a classy rounded toe, sparkling with silver.

Of course this is not your typical work clothes; it is a holiday party after all. And you surely are not the only one who is ‘dressed up’ for the occasion. Even Jungkook wears a franicer brand of clothes. He’s just not entertaining the spirit with reds or greens.

Typically in a work environment, everything — and you do mean everything — is strictly business. There’s no foolish nonsense or slacking off in this office. When your superior, Jungkook, wants something he expects to receive it in a timely manner. Sure he plays around with the ideas of certain phrases or words that will leave a lingering thought in your head. Teasing you with lighthearted flirtation; that’s just how Jungkook communicates.

But the way he looks at you right now, as if you are a meal he wants to devour, ignites something deep inside of you, causing a wave of arousal to flood your senses. It’s nearly haunting with his hooded eyes hiding the lust that pools in them. It’s a different look than you’re used to and it’s turning you on, making your insides turn and do flips with excitement.

“It’s a holiday party,” you remind him of the obvious. Heat sparks inside your body, “It’s a perfect excuse to dress up. Do you like it?”

Jungkook contemplates his response with pursed lips. He gives you a questionable look, one that looks like he’ll ask you “are you serious?”

“Of course.” His words come out clean and smooth. There is no hesitation with the truth dripping from his lips. He announces his likeness with confidence as his eyes remain glued to you. “It’s different from what I normally see you in, even the make-up,” he states the obvious, “Maybe we should change the dress code.”

You laugh with a scoff, shaking your head as you favor another sip of your wine. “I don’t think most of the staff can handle dressing up to this extent every day for work.”

Jungkook leans forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. He engages his direction at you, tilting his head to the left as bleached strands of hair carelessly fall flat against his face. You can tell he’s ran his hands through his golden mane at least a hundred times tonight with the lack of styled gel or hairspray — making his usual upkept style look disarrayed and messy. It’s so inviting to you, creating images in your head as if you were the one to run your fingers through it and fist it. Under the low light of your office you also still notice his black roots that protrude so dominantly from the blonde. It’s like a bright, beautiful sunshine trying to hide the darkness and failing to do so.

“I was talking about now,” he admits with a quick wiggle to his eyebrows.

You don’t take the hint at first. Thinking immediately how this can just be another trick up his sleeve to get you flustered. How your soft pining for months on end has only ever been a fun game for Jungkook and teasing and toying with you; you assume this is just another occasion. 

So it’s no surprise to him when you still yourself in place, freezing under the pressure of a possible ‘what if' solution. The glass tightens in your hold as your mind washes over with endless thoughts of Jungook’s suggestive approach.

“Excuse me?” The words come out panicked, you don’t mean for it to.

Jungkook gives you that cheeky smile — the one that you know he’s satisfied with a good joke or when he first tastes a well made grilled pork belly (you can thank all the group office lunches for knowing this one). He stands suddenly, angling his body enough to lean his lower half against the edge of your desk. His movement makes you take a quick step back, but as you see him comfortably making himself a spot you ease up on the tension building inside of you.

He opens up his palm toward you and offers his hand to take. A clear cut sign that he’s requesting you. He moves his fingers in a come-hither motion, beckoning you to step in front of him.

“I’m saying you look absolutely stunning tonight, Y/n, and I want to see what you’re hiding underneath all that.”

The pounding of your heart only gets louder as it practically bursts out of your chest. You pray that Jungkook doesn’t hear it beating so rapidly. There’s a delay with your step, but you slowly reach out with your free hand nonetheless.

Jungkook pulls you in softly when his fingers hook around your palm, enclosing your hand with his. You slot perfectly right between his legs that act as a shield, caging you inside a smaller area and closing the space between the two of you. The warmth of his thick thighs barely touch either side of you, it sets a blaze within your body.

Tentatively, Jungkook caresses your wrist, guiding his hand up the underside of your arm to your elbow and soon to your waist. His fingers fiddle with the velvety smooth material of your dress, sketching small circles into the crushed pattern.

Heat takes over your body, you can feel it like flames are engulfing you. You’re far beyond a melting point. You’re being burned by the impressions his body is leaving on you, branding the memory and physical feeling to your skin. The ghost of Jungkook’s touch will now and forever come to your wake, reminding you how dangerously deadly he truly is to your well being.

“Don’t be shy,” he whispers as he politely takes the wine glass from your hold and places it aside. 

Jungkook licks his lips when the palm of his hand wraps around the small of your back. He nudges you even closer, making your thighs squeeze between his. You’re face to face with Jungkook as your hands begin to clam up and pussy begins to drip onto your panties. You can feel your nerves messing with your body, shaking your hands when you gently slide them to his upper chest, feeling the way his pectorals flex under the first contact. Even through a silk material, you can tell he’s fully defined — ripped and plump. The tips of his nipples stand out as they harden because of you, roaming your digits across his full chest.

Oh, you’re such a whore for a good rack on a man. Even more of a whore for him with his strong shoulders that sit relaxed with muscle, high and mighty, stretching the black material painfully tight around them. The most sinful of whores when those are paired with long lengthy legs that are defined by the Gods themselves, in which your supervisor just so happens to have. 

Jeon Jungkook is completely unfair to you. He quite literally hits all the check marks of what you find attractive in a man. And here he is, reeling you in like a fish caught on a line of his rod.

Speaking of that… You swallow thickly as you fight to look past his handsome chiseled features and toward his pelvis. Seeing how his dress pants bunch up from the angle of his legs but also from a hardening cock that is in the beginnings of straining against the material. That’s when you release a deep exhale of realization. Where you know this isn’t some game and what Jungkook is doing to you is because he is affected by you too.

“J-Jungkook?” you question with shock. The anxiety of fever courses through your body like race cars speeding on their track, running laps around in circles. You’re quite ready to burst like how a balloon does when too much air fills it up.

“Shh,” he attempts to hush you. He keeps his voice calm and low, maintaining confidence. His head leans towards you, slotting it dangerously close to the nook of your neck. Jungkook catches a whiff of your perfume as his nose runs up your skin. “I want to give you this if you let me.”

You shiver with a light moan escaping your throat. The contact alone makes your nipples rise and legs squeeze together. Your fists tighten on his shirt, accidentally pulling out the top button in the jist of the action.

“Give me what?” You dare ask.

Jungkook’s mouth hovers over your neck. Hot, heated breath fanning out. Your nails threaten to scratch over the fabric, talons coming to grip onto reality. He smiles with a hum, his eyes shutting as he nuzzles his face. His lips press into your pulsepoint, peppering small kisses up and down. You barely can feel the light sensation of the tip of his tongue leaving a line of saliva on your skin.

“My dick,” he states. “We don’t have too much time. They’re beginning to give out gifts downstairs.”

You gasp when Jungkook’s teeth scrap over you, pulling at the taut skin of your neck. He grins to himself when he hears your reaction and feels when you wiggle in his grasp. You can go weak at the knees in an instant from his touch, his heedy flattery. The one thing he doesn’t read from your body language or voice is any form of protest. And he takes it as a green light, to continue his pursuit to you.

“We shouldn’t,” you gulp. “What if someone is looking for us?”

“Nobody will be looking for you” – he kisses your jawline – “Because I’m your Secret Santa and I’ve already found you.”

You feel his fingers grip your jaw as Jungkook leans back just enough to stare up at you through lust filled eyes. He wears a lopsided grin. His beautiful brown eyes are trained on your lipstick covered lips and he can’t help but wonder how they look over his cock. With your sharp tongue and blunt responses he fully believes you can do wonders with this beautiful mouth of yours.

“Fuck,” you curse with an angered whine. You’re completely lost when you gaze over his features. Admiring the few and far speckled moles and freckles that decorate his caramel skin. “You’re infuriating, do you know that?” Your inflamed anger – anguish – takes over. The rage within you is not true fury. It’s the annoyance of how easily you become such a little vexed slut for him. Aggravated because you simply cannot say no to this man. “You’re so annoying!”

“You like me,” he teases. He raises his eyebrows to taunt you as well. “I could ask you to jump and you’ll say “How high?”.”

“You’re right,” you declare. To give him the satisfaction of being right. Your hands run up to hook around his sturdy neck, feeling the buzzed undercut on the tips of your fingers. “And you love it,” you throw shade back to him. Giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“I loved it the moment I realized how easy it is for me to get under your skin. Having such an obedient body underneath my guidance. Listening intentionally to each of my words.”

You know he’s referencing work, but he purposely uses certain phrases and sayings to draw your imagination to another realm. A different, dirtier, dimension.

Jungkook runs his hands along the sides of your body, crunching up pieces of your dress with his fists. He pulls you flatter against him, closing any proximity between the two of you, and finally you feel it. A hardened cock right against your front, caged inside the barricades of his pants. He holds you there, waiting for your move.

And you give in so easily. Pulling his face towards you as you lock your lips onto his, nearly smashing into another from all the months of pining and longing for his touch. You taste him the second he sneaks his tongue out, licking at the seam of your lips and prodding inside of your mouth. His hand reaches around to cup an asscheek, squeezing the bulk of it tightly.

You run your fingers up the base of his scalp, grooming his precious locks and messing them up further. Jungkook continues to push you onto him as you’re happily willing to lean your entire body. Pressing yourself further into the clutches of your supervisor.

“I want to suck you off,” you mumble against his lips. You hear the rattling of his belt buckle loosening up along his waist – Jungkook clearly would like that very much. “Right now!”

It’s all in a haste with the time constraints going against the two of you, so you waste no seconds in between. Dropping quickly to your knees as you assist Jungkook with releasing his cock from the obstacle of his zipper.

As it finally reveals, you don’t spare a moment to appreciate for all it’s worth. The length, the girth, the beautiful round of his mushroom cockhead – not even the beautiful protruding veins from the underside of his shaft.

None of that matters right now. You gobble down a mouthful before he’s able to shove the material of his pants down his thighs. Lips latching around the circumference of his cock as you stick your tongue out while sliding down further. You lather him up with your spit, making the glide of your mouth smoother as you coat him. He tastes a little salty, probably from a long day's use, but you like it. It’s almost hinted with a powdery musk that reminds you of sandalwood and rose petals – or maybe that’s just the alcohol confusing you. Whichever it may be, you fully devour the length of Jungkook with eagerness. Sliding his whole extent inside of your mouth and down your throat.

It reaches past the opening of your throat, stretching it wide to accommodate as much as possible. Your nose presses right into the trimmed pubes on his pelvis as you settle there to acknowledge and value the sweet, sweet soft whines escaping from Jungkook. His hand, running hot from how heated he’s become, places itself on the back of your head. Guiding you up and down on his shaft.

You’re slobbering all over him, using your fingers to pull his briefs and the elastic of his pants further down to not dirty them with your saliva.

Jungkook quickly becomes a mess of light tenor whines. It fuels your ambitions toward him, knowing you’re causing such an approving feeling of pleasure for him. He sounds amazing, even tastes amazing as you flatten out your tongue and lick right up his shaft.

But suddenly you rip away from his cock, pulsating with how close and desperate his orgasm is. He leans there, jaw-slackened and in a trance of betrayal from having pleasure ripped right out from under him and a fading climax.

Turning around, you tease the idea of your body as you raise your dress slowly. You look over your shoulder as you wiggle your hips, with the full intent to provoke Jungkook, to make him snap out of his daze. You use the high slit in your dress to reveal more of your upper thigh, showing Jungkook how easy of an access he can have. All he needs to do is come and get it.

Jungkook’s hands shoot out to grab at your elbows, pulling you back against him. Ass flat against the seat of his lap, molding you against him. You arch your back just enough to make your ass stick out more prominently, nudging right onto his slickened cock.

“Lift,” he pushes the material of your dress up. His hands roam greedily across your front, one dipping between the junction of your thighs to feel the sheer thong you wear and the other groping one of your boobs. Jungkook can feel how wet you are for him, using his rough fingertips to run along the slit of your folds, pressing the material of your panties into you. “You’re so dirty. So wet. I can’t wait to fuck you onto my dick.”

“C-Condom?,” you choke out a moan. He pinches at your nipple as his skillful fingers pull your panties aside and dips two of them into your leaking cunt. Jungkook’s face presses into your shoulder as he breathes out heavily, trying to draw your last breath out of you to make you breathless. “Jungkook! Condom!”

“I have one just for you,” he says with gruff. He plunges two fingers inside of your entrance, curling them sinfully once he hits the second knuckle. A sigh emits from his mouth, “Right in my wallet. Downstairs in my jacket.” He grasps your tit greedily, making it near to painful as he vigorously finger-fucks you. “Whoops,” he laughs sarcastically. Jungkook spreads his fingers in a scissoring motion, rotating them to spread your walls open. A sobbing moan leaves your throat as your legs begin to shake. 

You clench around his fingers and dirty words – how carelessly he just so happened to forget a condom. But his mouth is not making love to the shoulder of your skin as the strap of your dress falls down your shoulder, his fingers spellbind you and coax your mind into thinking that being irresponsible is better tasting than sugar.

“You’re kidding me,” you laugh. You’re slickening up his fingers with your arousal, making it easier for him to shove another one in. You spread open your legs wider, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Will you let me fuck you like this?” He whispers against your shoulder. Lips tormenting you as he sucks against a piece of flesh. “Raw?”

His bewitching capability with his hands along makes you fall harder for the idea. It twists the thoughts into your mind and floods your senses with only wanting one thing – which is pleasure.

“Or,” he huffs, “Shall I finger you until you’re right on the brink of cumming into my hand. Then tear away that chance just how you did me? I can draw it out for hours, making your body ache with tense muscles and a teased pussy. Would you like that?”

“We’re in a time crunch,” you remind him. “There’s no hours here to have.”

“Then decide fast,” he bites. His fingers dive deeper into your pussy, producing an obscenely loud squelching noise.

Your mouth goes dry with how you desperately breathe. You need him. You want him.

“Fuck it. Make it fast,” you surrender.

Jungkook traps your body immediately under him, swapping your bodies and twisting you around to press you against the desk. He feels heavy and blazing warm, tension rising as his own desperation comes pouring out of him. 

His hand collects the train of your dress and lifts it high above your ass as his hand presses you down against the top of all your scattered papers and coat. Jungkook grips his large hand around the naked base of his cock, tugging at it and squeezing every time it throbs in his hold. His fingers that were once inside your cunt now spreads your arousal over his cock, brushing the engorged head of his dick between your lubricous lips. The sensation itself is maddening enough to have you pushing your hips eagerly back to feel him. Wanting him to spear right into your walls.

“I knew you’d say yes,” he practically growls with a carnal rumble inside his chest. He places a hand on your hip; you can feel his nail digging deeply into your dress and surely will cause crescent indents on your skin.

“I said make it – Oh!”

You bite back your curses when Jungkook’s hips stutter forward on your impatient request, his length and girth starts entering you at a quick pace. Your lungs hurt from the excessive gasp you intake as shaky whimpers tumble from your lips. His enlarged dick, fully aroused and stiff, finally gets to explore the slipper velvet interior of your hot core.

Jungkook could care less with a slow adjustment for you, especially how you declared the needed pace of events. He refuses to go anything but fast, sinking himself to the hilt as you grit your teeth in an attempt to make it easier to endure.

“Shit,” you both simultaneously speak into the air.

Inch by tasty inch, he fills you to the brim with his cock. Pushing snug against your cervix and balls resting against your pussy lips. Jungkook drags his cock partly back out of your sobbing hole, a fresh coat of your glistening arousal casts a beautiful clear sheen on his raging erection. The sight makes him salivate, a mouth-watering and utmost beautiful scene he has ever seen. Just when you think you can breathe a breath of comfort, he sheaths himself back inside of you with a sigh of pure relief.

You crane your neck to look back at him, seeking the sight of Jungkook’s concentrating face and biting harshly down on his bottom lip. With a hand still tight on your hip, the other rests on your shoulder – using it to slink you back onto his pelvis as he runs full-blown assault on your cunt. Fucking into you hard, having your legs bang into the desk as you drool over your papers. His relentless thrusts hardly let up. His eyes glance over to yours briefly, seeing how they plead with a need.

He complies to you, knowing exactly how you want his lips on yours. Jungkook leans down, rolling his hips into you at a constant pace but pulls you up just a bit with his hand around your neck. Your body melts into his touch soon enough as his soft lips mold into yours, tense muscles relaxing as he calms you down with a languid kiss.

“I’m s-so close,” you whisper into his moistened lips. Soft whines already start to slip from your tongue. His pace quickens, knowing he, too, is also close to his release. “Jungkook,” you warn as your eyes shut with impending bliss.

Jungkook’s breath comes out quiet yet rugged. His rough hips continue to snap against your ass and increasingly becomes harder upon receiving your words. All those thoughts of seeing you wiggling underneath his body, all the times he’s pondered how your body feels against his fuels his imagination up until this point.

“Where do you want it?” He questions as his pelvis pounds into you.

You, on the last shred of your own sanity, dangle on a thin string. Your eyes shut tight, gleeful tears break the edges of your eyes and leak down your make-up. Your arousal builds with every heavy drag of his length against your insides. What stirs you the most crazy is hearing, and basking in full on glory, of the beautiful vocalization of Jungkook’s increasing pleasure. The sweet sounds of his lupine moans and guttural grunts as he loses himself inside you. It sounds like a sinful song and causes that tightening coil of tension in the pit of your stomach to snap open at any given moment.

Jungkook’s hold on your neck tightens as harsh trusts slam into you, each releasing an angry huff from his nose. He presses you into your desk, shifting the piece of furniture slightly with his strength. Your pussy flutters around his cock, arousal dripping down your inner thighs as you do nothing but wriggle under him.

“I d-don’t care,” you moan. You’re diving nose first into an ocean of pure bliss as your climax hits you so hard that your vision blurs. A loud sob falls from your lips and babbling curses soon follow. “Holy shit!”

“Look at you go,” Jungkook praises you proudly, kissing your cheek to your neck. “I’m going to bury myself in you,” he states. Smiling against your skin, “I hope you’re ready.”

And surely you are. Even though your pussy is spent from his onslaught, you continue to back yourself into him until he is ready to slip into madness. Make his entire body shudder before he vehemently plows his cock into you at least a dozen more times in sporadic, faltering thrusts. Jungkook’s eyes screw shut, hands gripping on either side of your hips and squeezing your flesh helplessly. Your walls continue to clench with excitement around his bulky shaft, making it his tipping point. Where he falls into himself and unloads everything inside of you as he holds you impaled on his pulsating cock. Spurting an abundant amount of his hot cum into every nook and cranny of your silky core, making sure not a single spot is left unpainted. His orgasm lasts for several moments as he stills, a strains growl resounding from his chest and a melodic whine slipping out of his pink lips. Drops of his sticky off-white fluid starts to trickle down your folds from bursting out the seams.

The two of you stay in that position for minutes until you’re drawn back to reality. Heavenly relief washes over the both of you as sensations that run through your body relax. You begin taking in your surroundings for the first time since you have both lost any notion of space and time, forgetting you’re in the middle of your closed off office, at work, where a holiday party continues to roar down the stairs. Your desk has shifted a good foot from its original resting place, papers have fallen or crumpled from your fist, and a mess has been made of your pussy.

Jungkook pants behind you, forehead resting on your back as he catches his breath, sweat dripping off the side of his face.

“Y/n,” he rasps, trying to recollect himself. “Are you good?”

You nod, a soft smile curling your lips. You wait for him to lean up and pull out until you stand up straight. Your hands feel around your hair, making sure everything is still in place. You pull up the straps of your dress and situate the body and skirt. Lastly, you cup your sex with your hand as you search for a solution of the mixture of both of your cum’s falling so freely from you. The nearest bathroom is down the hall, you can make it as long as there is nobody else around.

“I’m great.”

“Good,” he hums. 

Jungkook tucks himself away and fixes his shirt and pants. In the low lighting you spy a small red scratch along his chest before he buttons it back up, knowing very well you have caused that mark on him.

He stands there as he watches you contemplate what you want to say. To break the silence, he clears his throat to gain your attention.

“So, I think I need to let you know something.”

Oh god, you think. What on earth does he have to say? What don’t you know? Potential bad possibilities immediately run through your mind as you glance at him, gripping your coat and purse quickly from the desk.

Does he have a partner? Is there something going on in the office? Will he ask you to not speak of this – not like you would risk that anyways. Will he say he realized he fucked up? Messing around with your own worker is frowned upon, office romances are not allowed. What does he have to say?

As you stand there waiting for him to speak, like a knife held above your heart, you expect to endure any pain coming your way. Mentally preparing to brush it off, forget about it and move on.

“I’m…” he begins. Jungkook takes a step closer, “I’m not really your Secret Santa. I just used that as an excuse to get you to stay a little longer before you left for the holiday.”

“Oh?” You blink. Your eyes scatter around your office as if you’re searching for an answer. Why lie about it. “Ok, so then who is?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I don’t really care either. But I'm sure whoever has gifts for us, they’ll be waiting for us downstairs.” His hand comes to grab yours, playing loosely with your fingers when he gets a hold of them. “I just wanted to give you a personal gift. I’m assuming you like it.”

You hold your coat tighter towards your body, “I do. And don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”

“I wasn’t worried,” he smirks. His other hand comes up to place his fingers under your chin, “You got a bit of drool…”

You narrow your eyes at him, but allow him to touch you. The trickling wetness from between your legs reminds you that you need to clean up and fast. So you take it as a cue to break contact with your boss, but you make sure to throw him a little remark back.

“And you have a bit of lipstick on your face,” you smile with fulfillment. “Might need to wash that off before heading downstairs.”

The two of you stand there smirking. Your deadly game of flirtations have stepped deeper into a new territory. Where the sex card now has come into play. How everything that may linger between the two of you can in fact become dangerous if you keep entertaining new domains. But neither one of you want to resist that temptation. This is exciting and new.

Before you can gather up Namjoon’s gift, Jungkook pulls you in for one last, chast, kiss on the lips. A parting goodbye for now. But a promising note for you to remember for the next time.

A reassuring reminder that tells you he is ready to play this game with you.

© 2022 All rights reserved under @kth1​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This TUMBLR and AO3 are the ONLY places my fics are posted.

#office santa #bangtansorciere #armysource #networkbangtan #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #kth1 #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #christmas!au #btsdreamcourt #thebtswritersclub #happy holidays bts #bts fanfic #oneshot #pwp #christmas jungkook

[jimhenson-themuppetmaster]

Halloween is our favorite time of year. Here's Jim Henson with Lothar from the Great Santa Claus Switch in Jim's workshop office, 1972

#jim henson #lothar #tom caffrey #1972 #behind the scenes #workshop #office #the muppets #the great Santa claus switch #frackle #halloween #rare pics

[cluster-of-happiness]

Christmas Matching Icons

#aesthetic #aesthetics #aesthetic blog #christmas #Xmas #matching pfps #matching profile pictures #christmas aesthetic #xmas aesthetic #winter #winter aesthetic #santa #christmas tree #the office #deadpool #Spider-Man #spideypool #spidey #cats #pfp icons #matching icons #we bear bears #cluster-of-happiness

[chicgeekgirl89]

Festive Friends- Read on AO3

Rating: T

Words: 8600

This one is for @strandnreyes as part of the @tarlos-santa 2023 exchange! I chose the prompt: AU - Carlos and TK unknowingly have each other for the office secret santa exchange. Up to you if they’re pining idiots, “enemies”, secretly dating, or anything else! Hope you enjoy and have the most festive of holidays!

“Good morning Mr. Reyes.”

Carlos looks up to find the office intern, Mateo, standing cheerily next to his desk, a stack of envelopes in his hand. “Good morning Mateo. And again, you can call me Carlos. Mr. Reyes really isn’t necessary.”

“Sorry Mr. Reyes, I’m just not really used to being like, a real adult yet I guess,” Mateo says sheepishly. 

Carlos keeps a chuckle to himself and doesn’t admonish the kid again. “I understand. Whatever you feel comfortable with is fine.”

“Cool. Thanks Mr. Reyes. I brought your mail over for you.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, accepting the stack from him.

“Can I get you anything? A coffee? Oh! I think Mr. Strand has some new kind of energizing smoothie or something in the break room. Although, it looked kinda gross to me,” Mateo says.

The thought of that smoothie sends a shiver down Carlos’ spine. He hasn’t known Owen Strand for very long, but his health nut tendencies have quickly become too much for Carlos’ taste. “No, that’s okay. I don’t need anything right now. Besides, your job here is to learn about the business, not fetch everyone’s coffee.”

“Right. Yes. Learning. I love learning all the things. Hey, are you coming to the office tree lighting on Friday afternoon? I heard they’re gonna have those little pigs in a blanket.”

Carlos’ eyes dart back to his screen and the half finished email staring at him. “Um, yeah. I’ll be there for a little bit.”

“Awesome!” Mateo seems genuinely thrilled and Carlos once again has to bite back an amused smile. The kid is ninety nine parts enthusiasm and one part overly helpful. “Well I’ll let you get back to it. Lots of…what exactly does HR do?”

“Emails,” Carlos says. “Lots of emails.”

“Right. Sounds fun. Good luck with that!”

Mateo sends him a parting wave and then disappears around the side of his cubicle. 

Things have been absolutely crazy at PD and Sons since they merged with 126 Designs a few months ago. Owen Strand had been brought in to manage the merger and insisted on hiring a significant number of new staff. Onboarding the new hires like Mateo has been a ton of work, especially since Owen insisted on being extremely involved in the entire process. Carlos has been in non-stop meetings for weeks and today is the first day he hasn’t felt completely overwhelmed in forever.

He flips through the stack of mail, tossing a few random flyers in the recycling, and setting aside the important envelopes to open later. He wrinkles his forehead when he finds a folded up piece of red paper at the bottom of the stack. When he opens it his eyes immediately widen in horror.

What. The. Hell?

“Lexi.” He stands up and looks down into the cubicle next to him where his work wife is busy with some kind of design project. “Why did I just get a paper telling me who my Secret Santa is this year?”

“I signed you up because I knew you wouldn’t do it otherwise. It’s the season of giving and part of that means giving up your Grinchy ways and pretending like you’re interested in getting to know all the new people in the office,” Lexi says without looking up at him.

His jaw drops. “Okay, first of all, I’m not uninterested in getting to know them. I just haven’t had time to get to know them. And secondly, I hate Secret Santa. Nobody ever really knows what to get you, so you end up with all this random crap and candy that you don’t want and it all sits in a drawer for three or four years until finally you throw it out.”

She finally stops and turns to look at him. “Wow. Okay Uncle Scrooge. First of all,” she echoes him, “it’s not Secret Santa, it’s Festive Friends. Not everybody celebrates Christmas. Get your terminology right. And secondly, it’s not about getting good gifts, it’s about spreading joy for the holiday season. So take the Christmas tree out of your ass and start fa la la-ing with the rest of us.”

“Lexi,” he grinds out her name between his teeth and quickly glances around to make sure no one is in earshot. “I got T.K.”

Lexi is the only one in the office who knows what an incredible disaster meeting T.K. Strand has been for his life. A week after the PD Austin and 126 Designs merger the entire office had gone out for drinks. One thing led to another, which led to another, and ultimately ended up with T.K. very naked in Carlos’ bed. 

They’d been incredibly hot and incredibly heavy for a couple weeks after that, sneaking around together, making out in the supply closet, booty calling each other in the dead of night, and Carlos had been so ridiculously happy. T.K. Strand had turned him into a horny freaking teenager.

And then he’d made the mistake of surprising T.K. with dinner. He’d thought it would be romantic. That it might move them from booty call status into something a little bit more permanent. 

But T.K. had freaked out, stormed out, and shut Carlos out of his life. Thank god his cubicle is all the way around the corner on the other side of the building. They barely have to see each other except for the occasional awkward brush in the break room or men’s room.

Carlos’ heart has been more broken than he’d like to let on, not to mention his ego is bruised too. The whole thing has made getting to know the other people from 126 Designs like Marjan, Paul, Nancy, and Judd very awkward.. They’re T.K.’s friends. And he doesn’t want to piss T.K. off anymore than he already has. 

Of course he has to interact with T.K.’s father, Owen Strand, he is the manager after all, but other than that he’s kept everyone else at an extremely polite and professional distance.

So finding T.K.’s name in his hands is like a punch in the gut.

“Good,” Lexi says, surprising him. “You’ve been pining for him for weeks anyway. Might as well do something about it.”

“Lexi, this guy hates my guts,” Carlos says. “He doesn’t want presents from me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. You’re Carlos Reyes. No one hates you.”

“Please switch with me.”

“No.”

“Lexi!”

“No! I got Paul. I already have ideas. I’m not switching. It’s only three gifts, you’ll be fine.”

“Three?! I thought Secret Santa was only one gift!”

“God, do you even read your email? It’s three gifts in the week leading up to the holiday break. This will be good for you. Now go away. I’m working.”

Carlos sinks back down into his chair, misery settling in his stomach. This is going to be absolute torture.

He takes another look at T.K.’s scrawl. His writing looks hurried in a way that suggests he’s so excited that he can’t be bothered to slow down and shape his letters more carefully. It has that same kind of frenetic, joyful energy that drew Carlos to him in the first place. Now the only energy he exudes toward Carlos is coldness.

Carlos catches himself tracing his fingers over the letters of T.K.’s name and balls them into a fist before forcing himself to read T.K.’s answers to the Festive Friends questionnaire. T.K. has written down that he likes sour candy, Harry Styles, boba, and interesting tea flavors. He doesn’t like black licorice, the Mets, or anything with alcohol. 

Carlos frowns at that. He doesn’t remember T.K. mentioning anything about alcohol during their weeks together. But then again, they didn’t exactly spend much time talking. Their mouths had been occupied with other things.

It feels unfair to have this scrap of T.K., to get this little glimpse into his life. These are things he doesn’t want Carlos to know. He made that clear when he stormed out the door of Carlos’ condo and left nothing behind except Carlos’ fractured heart. 

He takes a breath and squares his shoulders. It’s just a stupid office tradition. They’re colleagues. They’re going to have to become cordial at some point. Maybe this is how he can start to smooth things over. Besides, it’s not like he has to talk to the guy. That’s literally the point. To keep it secret.

This is going to be fine.

It is not fine. It’s not fine because Carlos is the type of person that agonizes over gifts. And in this case, there’s even more pressure because the gifts have to be perfectly impersonal so they don’t say, “Your dick was life changing and I don’t think I’m ever going to recover because now you hate me and I don’t really know why.” He’d much rather they say, “I’m fine and I don’t ever think about you and that thing you did with your tongue that one time.”

Ugh.

He arrives Monday morning the week before Christmas with a gift bag in hand, a Yankees baseball cap tucked inside. It’s a lame gift. Perfectly impersonal. And the rest of his gifts for the week aren’t much better. There’s a small part of him berating himself for not doing a better job. He could at least try. The guy broke up with him, he didn’t murder anyone.

But then he remembers how miserable he was in the days after T.K. had stormed out. Whatever. He didn’t sign up for this anyway. T.K. deserves his boring gifts.

The office is quiet as he makes his way to T.K.’s cubicle. Even just the sight of his desk makes Carlos’ heart ache a little. There’s a picture pinned to his bulletin board of T.K. with their other co-workers, Marjan, Paul, Judd, Mateo, Nancy, and Tommy all smiling and having fun, clearly out for a night on the town together. He’d known 126Designs was small and that was part of the reason for the acquisition; to bring on a tightly knit team to help their own, but seeing T.K. so happy with them all doesn’t really feel great.

He’s been so preoccupied by his own shopping that he completely forgot that he is also getting gifts until he steps into his cubicle and sees a bright green bag with little white Christmas trees all over it. He inspects it carefully, relieved to find there’s no glitter anywhere. 

He hates glitter.

There’s a little card attached to the handle and when he opens it it reads “Hope you have a Write Christmas- FF.” It takes him a second to figure out that FF must mean Festive Friend.

He carefully extracts the tissue paper and looks into the bag. It’s office supplies. Pens, post-its, a new stapler, blue paperclips, and a ball of rubber bands.

The pun on the card makes sense, even if it is as terribly lame as the gifts inside. At least it’s practical. He can always use new pens.

“Hey!” Lexi pokes her head in. “Ooh what’d you get?”

He shows her the bag and she nods in approval. “Your Festive Friend knows you like office supplies. Nice.”

“If you’re expecting a thank you for going behind my back on this, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” Carlos tells her as he sits down and opens up his laptop.

“Pretty sure people with that attitude get coal in their stocking,” she tells him, flipping him off before heading to her own cubicle.

It’s midway through the morning and Carlos is about to make yet another phone call when Owen Strand steps into the middle of the bullpen. “All right, attention everyone!” he calls.

The ambient sound of typing and low chatter ceases. “Thank you,” he says. “I just wanted to remind everyone that we have our first team building activity this afternoon. So if you have anything scheduled this is your last chance to rearrange. Mandatory fun is in store for all!”

Carlos bites back a groan. He is really not into mandatory office fun. Especially when it means he’ll be in close proximity to T.K. But he’s also not one to flaunt the rules, so he’s going to have to suck it up and deal.

No one has been allowed in the conference room all morning and when one o’clock rolls around Owen waits at the door with a massive grin on his face. The man is clearly thrilled with whatever he’s cooked up to torture them today.

When Carlos walks through the door he sees why. The tables have been covered in red plastic tablecloths and every two feet or so sits a pile of materials like graham crackers, marshmallows, frosting, and candy. It’s immediately obvious how they will be team building today.

“All right everyone!” Owen says when they’re all assembled. “As you can probably guess our team building activity for today has taken a turn for the festive. And I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you all a partner to work with. Each team will be assembling a pre-determined part of our gingerbread village. Paul, you’re with Marjan.”

They immediately turn and high five, clearly thrilled. 

“Nancy with Lexi, Judd with Tommy, Mateo with me,” Owen flashes him a smile and Mateo lets out a whoop.

Carlos’ stomach drops. That leaves him with—“T.K., you’ll be with Carlos.”

Fuck.

“Send one person to grab your pre-assigned building assignment! Remember this is not a competition. We’re all working together to build our village. Just like it takes a village to run a company.”

There’s a brief silence in which everyone internalizes what a dumb, schticky thing Owen has just said and then he claps his hands. “Okay, get to work!”

Everyone claims a spot around the tables. Carlos takes a paper slip from Owen and then looks around to find T.K., who is sitting across the room with his back to Carlos.

Carlos reluctantly walks over and sits in the empty seat next to him, all the while wondering if he can fake sick or claim a family emergency to get out of this. When he finally looks up at his partner he recoils in shock. T.K.’s lip is split and swollen, and there’s a dark ring of bruising underneath his right eye. “What happened to you?” Carlos asks, a surprised reflex releasing the words from his mouth before he can stop them.

The look T.K. sends him immediately reminds him that they’re not friends anymore. It’s full of vitriol and misery and…Carlos looks a little closer. Pain. There’s a rawness there that Carlos doesn’t remember seeing before.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just…that looks like it hurts.”

“Doesn’t feel great,” T.K. agrees, his voice stiff. “What are we supposed to be making?”

Carlos looks at the paper. “Police station.”

“Perfect. Way to read the room Dad. ACAB and all that,” T.K. grouses as he reaches for a pile of graham crackers and immediately begins squeezing icing all over.

“Um,” Carlos hems and T.K. stops.

“What?”

“Don’t you think maybe we should make a plan first?”

T.K. sighs and dramatically drops his piping bag onto the table. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“No I—I didn’t mean—” Carlos struggles to find the right words. “It’s fine. Let’s just try and get something standing first. That’s the hardest part anyway.”

They spend a couple minutes in silence gluing graham crackers together with icing and using some marshmallows to prop them up until they have something that roughly resembles walls and a roof. “You’re kind of good at this,” T.K. says. 

It’s the closest thing to niceties that they’ve shared in weeks.

“I have a lot of nieces and nephews. Not my first gingerbread house. Although it is my first police station,” Carlos admits.

“Cool,” T.K. says, then winces, his lip clearly hurting.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?” Carlos asks, feeling a little emboldened by T.K.’s compliment.

T.K. shoots him a glare. “You’re kind of annoying. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Carlos says, trying to let the jab roll off his back. “But I know you’re new around here and you’ve obviously gotten into some trouble. Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

He gets silence in return. God what the hell is wrong with this guy? He’s literally just trying to help. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me. But you should probably tell someone before whoever gave you that shiner comes back to give you a matching set.”

T.K. goes quiet, fiddling with the icing bag in his hand. When he speaks his voice is soft.“I went to a bar last night.”

“Ah. A little drunk and disorderly,” Carlos says, aware that he’s being snarky and not caring in the least. “So you have an idea of how the inside of this police station should look then.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” T.K. says quickly and Carlos remembers his Festive Friends answers. He looks down. “I just went through a really bad break up. Like nuclear bad. And then I relapsed.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “I relapsed with substances.”

Oh.

Carlos sets down the graham cracker in his hands, his full attention now on T.K. as memory slices through him. “I tried to pour us champagne during dinner. I’m such an idiot I’m sorry—“

“It’s fine, ” T.K. cuts him off quickly, like if he gets interrupted now he won’t ever be able to find the strength to share this again. He fiddles with the peppermint wrapper in his hands. “Ever since I’ve gotten here it’s just…it’s grey. And I just feel numb all the time. So I went out to a bar looking for trouble. And I found it. Big time. I guess I just…I wanted to feel something.”

He’s pulled in on himself, his body looking vulnerable and wounded. Carlos gets it now. The overenthusiastic sex. His no-strings attached mentality. The complete meltdown during dinner. This is a man who has been hurt, and he’s struggling to find a way to heal. Carlos had unknowingly probed at the wound in his soul and T.K. had lashed out. It makes sense, even if it wasn’t fair.

T.K. looks miserable and despite their history all Carlos wants to do is make him feel better. “Judging by that lip, I’d say mission accomplished,” he says, trying to lighten the moment.

“You’re really busting my balls right now?” T.K. asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

“No,” Carlos says. “I’m busting your jingle bells.” He tries and fails to hold back a smile at his incredibly stupid joke.

T.K. blinks at him. “That’s terrible,” he says, but he is also struggling to keep his face neutral.

“And yet you’re smiling,” Carlos says. He feels lighter, like there’s been an ominous blizzard hanging over him in the weeks since they stopped seeing each other. Now it feels like the snow has finally started to fall and all the ugliness of the bare world in winter is being covered in a fresh layer of soft white powder. There’s a sense of hope to it.

“I’m laughing at how stupid it is,” T.K. says.

“Well laugh while you work,” Carlos says, reaching for a bar of Hershey’s chocolate to put on the roof. “I know your dad said it wasn’t a competition, but Marjan and Paul seem to be working on a second story. So I’m not sure they know that.”

Together they finish the roof, adding on lots of dripping icing as snow and icicles. Carlos carefully starts to add windows while T.K. works on the landscaping. 

“Tommy I don’t know why you’re trying to make me do these little details when you know I’ve got fat fingers,” Judd is saying across the way as he and Tommy try to add a steeple to their church.

Marjan and Paul’s apartment building does indeed have two stories and they’ve somehow managed to chisel out actual windows in the graham crackers. Lexi and Nancy are creating a ski chalet that includes a chairlift, and Owen and Mateo’s fire station sports a fire pole made of pretzel rods.

“There,” T.K. says, plonking a creation down in front of where Carlos has crafted a front door out of Kit Kats.

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“A snowman.”

Ah. Now Carlos sees it. There are two marshmallows stacked on top of each other and T.K. has shoved pretzel sticks in each side for arms. There is a lifesaver on each one and they’re connected by a thread of Twizzler. “What’s on its arms?” he asks.

“Handcuffs,” T.K. says.

“The snowman is getting arrested?”

“Or getting ready to do something kinky.”

“In front of a police station?”

“Some people get off on a little exhibitionism. Don’t judge Carlos,” T.K. says, a smirk on his face.

Damn it. They should have stayed mortal enemies. Now that they’re talking again, Carlos feels the urge to drag T.K. into the nearest cubicle and kiss the shit out of him. He didn’t need to go to a bar to find trouble. He could have shown up on Carlos’ doorstep and gotten into plenty.

Carlos’ attempt at a police cruiser has them both laughing; the oreo wheels keep falling off the rice krispie body (which T.K. snuck out and stole from the break room and has loudly been declared illegal by half the staff in the room) no matter how much icing he uses to try and stick them on.

“Stop eating our building materials,” Carlos admonishes a few minutes later when he goes for another red gum drop and finds they’re nearly gone.

“Why? They’re delicious. Tis the season for sugar,” T.K. says.

Carlos goes to give him a look and notices a dab of frosting on the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some—“ He mimes brushing it away.

T.K. grabs a tissue and wipes, but misses completely. “No other side,” Carlos directs without success. “Here just, let me.”

He swipes the tissue from T.K.’s hand and dabs carefully, taking care not to pull on T.K.’s split lip. Their eyes meet and a heat passes between them, setting Carlos’ bones on fire. He clears his throat. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says quietly.

They spend another half hour decorating before Owen makes them put all the buildings together into a little town while he snaps a picture for the company social media accounts. It’s actually pretty adorable once assembled and Carlos goes home that night strangely optimistic about what the rest of the week has in store.

Tuesday is business as usual and by the time Wednesday morning rolls around Carlos finds himself excitedly driving into work, his gift for T.K. in the passenger seat. He’s scrapped all his other gifts and spent the last two days looking for better items. Last night he visited a local tea shop and probably went a little overboard. They’d definitely upsold him on a few things and he’d let it happen because Monday’s gingerbread decorating had put a kernel of hope in his chest and…it can’t hurt to make sure T.K. likes his gifts, right?

He drops off T.K.’s gift bag and is only mildly disappointed when he walks into his own cubicle to find his desk is empty. It doesn’t matter; at least, that’s what he tells himself. Honestly, he’s not surprised. People are terrible at doing Secret Santa, it’s very likely that his person has forgotten him in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season.

He heads to his desk and gets right to work because they’re all heading out early to help with a toy drive at the local fire station; another of Owen’s brilliant ideas to encourage office camaraderie. It means he has a lot more to take care of than usual to try and make up for the lost time, and by mid-morning he’s in desperate need of a second coffee.

He’s about to get up and make one when his phone rings. It’s Ernie, their security guard from downstairs informing him that there’s a delivery waiting for him. Confused but intrigued Carlos heads for the elevator.

“Hey Ernie, all set for the holidays?” he asks when he reaches the desk on the ground floor.

“Just about. Got a couple more things to pick up today, but then I should be good to go,” Ernie tells him. He nods toward a bag and a coffee cup on the desk. “That’s for you.”

“Thanks.”

Carlos picks up the white paper sack and has to hold back a snort when he sees what’s written on the side. Hope the holidays don’t make you “cronuts”- FF. He peeks inside and inhales the scent of cronuts from Twiggy’s. Cronuts are a massive weakness of his, and a sip of the coffee tells him it’s made just to his specifications, a little bit of cream, no sugar. Whoever his Festive Friend is, they know him well. His suspicions are definitely leaning more and more toward Lexi.

He gets back in the elevator and when he steps off he nearly runs over T.K. “Whoa, sorry,” he says, holding up the coffee so it doesn’t spill all over T.K.’s chest.

“Lunch?” T.K. asks, nodding toward the bag.

“A snack from my ‘Festive Friend,’” he says. “Cronuts from the Twiggy’s.”

“That place is great. Enjoy,” T.K. says. 

“Do you want one?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. God he’s needy. “I um, I got two and I can’t eat both. They’re really only good fresh, it’s not like I can save one—“

“Sure.” T.K. thankfully interrupts his ramble and the affirmative response sends a jolt of electricity through him.

They step into the break room and T.K. boils some hot water for tea before settling down across from Carlos at one of the high top tables, a kitschy little vase of fake flowers between them. 

Carlos pulls out the cronuts and puts each one on a paper plate. They’re decorated for the season as little Santa bellies, and hopefully they’re as delicious as he remembers. He slides one toward T.K. before picking up his own and taking a massive bite. He has to hold back a groan. They’re freaking amazing.

When he looks up he finds T.K. staring at him with an amused smirk on his face. “Sorry,” Carlos says, feeling his cheeks heat. “I um, these are my favorite.”

“So I can see,” T.K. says, the smirk widening a little. “The last time I saw that look we were both way more naked.”

Carlos feels his entire face go red at the reminder. He finishes chewing his bite, trying not to let memories of said naked time take over his brain. “So your dad,” he says. “He’s really into the holidays huh? We’ve never had so many festive office events.”

“Yeah my dad doesn’t really do anything by half measures,” T.K. says. “I think he might be overcompensating on the holiday cheer a little bit this year. The move down here was kind of a lot and I haven’t exactly been a bundle of joy lately, so he’s trying to fix it with cocoa and faux Christmas wreaths.”

Carlos takes another bite and thinks carefully about his next move. This new dynamic between them still feels tenuous, and he doesn’t want to fracture it. But at the same time, he can see the unfiltered hurt in T.K.’s eyes and he longs to help bear the weight of it. “You mentioned a breakup the other day,” he says quietly. “Is that part of why you came?”

T.K. blows out a breath and looks down at his cronut. “It’s the whole reason we came.”

Carlos watches as he wrestles internally and he’s just about to say that T.K. doesn’t have to tell him anything, when T.K. starts to speak again. “I had a boyfriend, in New York. Alex. We were together for like…I don’t know, a year I guess? He was the first boyfriend I’d had since getting sober and I wanted it to work so badly. Like this relationship was proof I finally had my shit together, you know?”

Carlos nods.

“I had this plan, I was going to propose to him. Had a ring, a restaurant, the whole thing. I was basically down on one knee and he—he told me he’d been cheating on me. With his spin instructor.”

Something hot and violent shoots through Carlos. “That motherfucker,” he says, before he can stop himself.

T.K. looks up in surprise and lets out a startled laugh.

“Sorry,” Carlos says. “That’s just…wow what an asshole.”

“Yeah he definitely was,” T.K. says, looking a little more relaxed now, as if Carlos’ angered sympathy has put him more at ease. “For a long time I think. I can look back on it now and see little moments. We only ever went where he wanted to go for dinner. He was always busy when I asked him to meet my friends. There was stuff I was overlooking because I was trying to prove to everyone else that I was stable.”

“I get that,” Carlos says.

T.K. shifts a little. “I went home after that, found a bottle of pills and…took them until I couldn’t feel anymore. My dad had to bust down the door to save my life.” He shrugs. “And that’s how we ended up here. He knew I needed to get away, so he took me as far as he could get.”

He looks up at Carlos. “I’m doing better now. Well, kind of.” He indicates his black eye. “But that’s why I freaked out on you that night. It wasn’t the champagne or anything you did. You were—you were so kind to me Carlos. I just wasn’t ready for it. And I’m really sorry that I walked out on you.”

The urge to reach over and touch him, to hold his hands and soothe away the hurt that’s painted into the lines of his forehead is overwhelming. But he’s not sure T.K. would be into that so he grips his own thighs instead. “Thank you for telling me,” he says. “That all sounds really difficult. I’m sorry I ambushed you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more understanding when I realized you were uncomfortable. I think um, I think my ego took a little bit of a hit,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh you think Mr. ‘I Know It Doesn’t Look Like a Lot of Work’?” T.K. asks with a grin.

“Hey, that fish took me like three hours to make,” Carlos teases. “You missed out.”

T.K. sobers a little and fiddles with his cronut again. “I think I missed out on a lot.”

Carlos opens his mouth to offer a response, but Lexi pokes her head into the break room. “Carlos, your phone is ringing off the hook.”

“Coming,” he says, sliding off the stool and picking up his plate with the last couple bites of cronut on it. “Are you going to the toy drive this afternoon?”

“Boss dad said be there so yeah, I’m going,” T.K. says. “Thanks for the cronut.”

“You’re welcome,” Carlos says and then hustles back to his cubicle, where his phone is indeed ringing off the hook. He shoves the last bite of cronut into his mouth as he sits down, chewing furiously before he picks up. “This is Carlos.”

An HR crisis means Carlos is the last one to leave the office and arrive at the fire station’s toy drive. He looks for T.K. as soon as he gets there, but Lexi pulls him over to a table where they’re taking donations for one of the local food pantries. 

“So,” Lexi says as they fill boxes with canned beans and stuffing mix and mac and cheese, “looks like someone’s back on Carlos Reyes’ nice list. Although with the way you were looking at him, seems more like you’d prefer he stay on the naughty list.”

“Lexi!” Carlos hisses, looking around. “There are kids here!”

“Oh they can’t hear me,” she scoffs, handing him a bag of flour. “They’re all at the make-an-ornament station.”

Carlos looks over and finds T.K. hunkered down by that very table, laughing and smiling as he helps a couple kids glue pompoms and sequins to colored paper. It’s adorable and Carlos’ heart melts a little at the sight.

“See? That look right there. You’ve got it bad. You want him to jingle your ba—“

“I’m going to remind you that I’m your HR rep and you probably shouldn’t finish that sentence,” he says quickly.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “But you two did look pretty cozy in the break room earlier. The great branzino war is over I take it?”

“Yeah we had a good talk,” Carlos says.

She clears her throat. “You can say thank you anytime now you know.”

He furrows his brow. “For what?”

“For making you do Festive Friends and fixing your broken heart.”

“My heart was not broken,” he scoffs.

“You have been acting like you’re in the last ten minutes of a Hallmark movie for weeks. Time to finally realize you’re in love and kiss under the mistletoe,” Lexi tells him.

“Just because we’re friendly now doesn’t mean we’re going to kiss.”

“Okay. Sure. Believe whatever you want.”

There’s a massive influx then from a church group and thankfully the matter is dropped for the rest of the night.

On Friday Carlos stops at home to change his clothes before heading to a local bar for their holiday party and the big Festive Friends reveal. He puts on a pair of dark jeans and winces when he pulls on the ugly sweater that Owen insisted they all wear. As far as they go, his is pretty tame, albeit with a bit more sparkle and pizazz than he usually goes for. It says Feliz Navidad in tinseled letters with some primary colored pom poms decorating the rest for good measure. It had been part of a family white elephant a few years ago and has sat in the back of his closet since for good reason. 

He gabs the box he wrapped up for T.K. on the way out the door. It’s nearly as brightly colored as his sweater. Generally he tries for a more sedate theme in wrapped gifts, but T.K. is so vivacious and colorful that he broke into the stash of wrapping paper he usually saves for his nieces and nephews.

He’s nervous as he drives and he can’t quite put his finger on why. Is it because he wants T.K. to like his gift? Because things between him and T.K. have shifted in a more positive direction and his stupid heart can’t quite stop believing that tonight might be like that first night at the honky tonk? Is it because he feels very stupid in this sweater and he really hopes everyone else obeyed Owen’s instructions from the email invite?

Probably all of it.

Ah well. At least if things don’t go well there will be liquor around to help drown his sorrows.

There’s immediate relief when he walks in through the doors of the bar and sees holiday themed knit-ware all over. “Hey Carlos, glad you came,” Owen says, greeting him at the door in a sweater with a massive reindeer head on the front.

“Mr. Strand,” Carlos says, giving him a nod.

“Carlos we’ve been over this. You can call me Owen,” Owen says, a tinge of good natured exasperation in his tone. 

“Yes, right, sorry” Carlos says, embarrassed. Didn’t he just chide Mateo for the same thing last week? Somehow this seems different. And definitely a weird way to address the man who fathered his most recent hookup.

“Go ahead and grab a drink, there’s hors d’oeuvres, I highly recommended the stuffed mushrooms, and then when the time feels right make sure you deliver your gift to your Festive Friend,” Owen says brightly. Then he leans close. “I got Judd a new belt. Italian leather, handcrafted, this thing is a masterpiece. He is gonna love it!”

“I’m sure he will,” Carlos agrees.

“Oh! Nancy! Come on in!” Owen gives Carlos a pat on the shoulder and moves past him to greet her.

Carlos says hello to Judd and his wife Grace, his eyes searching the room and finally landing on T.K. who is standing at the bar chatting with Mateo. Carlos’ heart flutters at the sight of him even as he tries to figure out what the heck is knitted on the back of his sweater. It appears to be a long, yellow tail, but that can’t possibly be right, can it? He takes a breath and then abruptly loses courage and goes to find Lexi instead. “Nice earrings,” he says when he gets to her table.

“Thanks,” she says, pushing her hair back so he can see them better. “They’re from my ‘Festive Friend’ Marjan.”

“Great,” Carlos says as he grabs a chip from a bowl on the table. “Did you give Paul your gift?”

“Yes, he is thrilled with the crime novels I got him. He hasn’t read that author yet so hopefully he likes them.” She gives him a look. “Why do you still have T.K.’s?”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Carlos says defensively.

“You mean you saw him and you’re too chicken to go over there because you’re having feelings and don’t know what to do with them,” she says bluntly. “Are you going to ask him out when you give it to him?”

“I—I don’t know,” Carlos says. “That seems pushy.”

“You two were practically making out in that break room.”

“We were literally sitting three feet apart,” Carlos says dryly. 

“Fine. You were emotionally making out.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That’s not a thing.”

“I think you should ask him. It’s Christmas. The season of miracles. And wishes. And Santa shit. This is your chance!” she says enthusiastically.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks.

She scoffs. “This isn’t drunkeness. It’s my Christmas wish that you grow a pair and ask T.K. out.”

“That is a terrible wish,” Carlos says. 

“Well it is what it is. You wouldn’t want to break a girl’s heart at Christmas would you?”

He opens his mouth to respond but Paul calls Lexi’s name and beckons her toward him. “That’s my cue,” she says, hopping off her bar stool. “Gonna go kick Paul’s ass at darts. Good luck!”

And with that she’s gone, leaving Carlos alone with his feelings and his gift box. He stares at it for a moment and gives himself a stern pep talk. It’s a gift. Not a marriage proposal. If T.K. hates it, it’s whatever. 

“Hey Carlos.”

He’s waited too long. He looks up to find T.K. standing on the other side of the table, a smile on his face. Carlos can now see the front of his sweater. Some kind of lizard smiles at him, clearly the front end of the tail he spotted before. Above it are the words “Merry Crickets.” It is truly the most hideous thing he’s ever laid eyes on, but somehow T.K. makes it look adorable.

“Hey,” he replies..

Excellent. Great. He’s crushing this.

“Nice sweater,” T.K. says, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. 

“Thanks. This is some party. Your dad is quite the host.”

T.K. rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness to it. “Just be grateful I talked him out of chartering a party bus. And roller skating.”

“Your dad thought our holiday party should be at a roller rink?”

“He was going with an 80’s holiday theme at first,” T.K. says. “It took a lot of bargaining to get him down to ugly sweater instead. I think he was an event planner in a former life.”

“He definitely has a flair for it,” Carlos agrees. He looks down at the present in front of him. He should have gotten a drink before doing this. “So um, actually, I’m your Festive Friend. Surprise. This is for you.”

He slides it across the table and T.K.’s eyes immediately light up. “Can I open it now?” he asks eagerly.

He looks like a kid on Christmas morning and it’s so endearing that Carlos can barely breathe. “Yeah, yes, it’s all yours.”

T.K. pulls off the bow and rips open the paper, lifting out the soft yellow sweatshirt inside. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and Carlos feels a flutter of nerves. “It’s—“

“The sweatshirt Harry Styles wore in New York last summer,” T.K. says. His tone is almost reverent, his thumbs moving back and forth to stroke the material. “Oh my god. I have Harry Styles’ sweatshirt.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not the exact one he wore,” Carlos says, feeling sheepish. “But I know you like him and hoodies so it seemed right.”

“It must have taken forever for you to find this,” T.K. says.

“Oh, no, it was…it was no big deal,” Carlos says, omitting the entire night he spent on instagram combing through Harry’s outfits of the last few years and trying to find them for sale. 

“Thank you Carlos,” T.K. says, sincere gratitude in his voice. “This is amazing. All your gifts were amazing.”

“I mean, that hat was kind of lame,” Carlos says, still embarrassed that he bought something so generic.

“No it’s great! I’m going to wear it the next time I go to an Astros game,” T.K. says, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

Carlos chuckles. “Yeah good luck with that.”

“Did you get your last gift yet?” T.K. asks casually.

Carlos shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Any guesses who it might be?”

He has no idea. There’s no one in the office that knows him well enough to send him cronuts besides Lexi and he knows she had Paul. “No,” he says. “Usually I’m pretty good at figuring this kind of thing out, but everyone in the office is so new I haven’t really been able to get a read on anyone.”

“Marjan?”

“She had Lexi.”

“Paul?” 

Carlos looks around until he finds him standing in a corner next to a Christmas tree, laughing at something Lexi just said. “I don’t think so. He’s from Chicago, I doubt he would know about Twiggy’s.”

“Judd?”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t know about cronuts either,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I feel like it has to be someone who knows me pretty well, but Lexi is the only one—“

His eyes land on T.K.’s face and he knows. He can see it in his eyes and he feels stupid he didn’t realize it before when T.K. used that false casual tone. “You?” he asks in surprise. “You’re my Festive Friend?”

T.K. reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Merry Christmas,” he says as he hands it to Carlos. 

Still in a little bit of shock Carlos carefully lifts the flap on the envelope to reveal a printed out email inside. “A cooking class?” he asks, looking up to search T.K.’s eyes. 

T.K. nods, a flicker of nerves flashing over his face. “It’s bruschetta, pasta, and a dessert. A husband and wife team run it out of their home. I thought, I mean you obviously know how to cook, but I thought it might be fun.”

“It sounds amazing,” Carlos says genuinely. He’s always wanted to try his hand at homemade pasta.

T.K. nods and takes a breath. “I um, I got you two tickets. You can take whoever you want, but I—“ He runs his hands nervously over his jeans. “I know I fucked things up between us, so I was hoping that maybe this could be kind of a do-over for us. If you want?”

“Yes,” Carlos says immediately. It’s embarrassingly fast and absolutely gives away how badly he wants them to try again, but he doesn’t care. “Yes I would love a do-over.”

“Yeah?” T.K. asks, his eyes full of hope.

“Yeah,” Carlos says. A smile plays on his lips and he’s about to thank T.K. for his other gifts when something occurs to him. “You little shit!” he says incredulously. “You bought me those cronuts and then sat there and ate one like you had no clue who’d given them to me!”

T.K. sends him a wicked smile. “I was counting on your holiday generosity,” he says.

“How did you even know about that bakery?” Carlos asks.

“You mentioned it,” T.K. says. “I don’t know, it was the second or third time we hooked up. I saw a flyer for them on your fridge and you told me how good they were.”

“You remember that?” Carlos asks in surprise. After their blowup he’d convinced himself that he was just a warm body for T.K. to be with, another notch in his bedpost who’d meant nothing to him.

T.K. looks at him, his face serious. “I remember all of it Carlos.”

The words make his heart swell and he hysterically wonders if this is how the Grinch felt when he heard the Who’s singing on Christmas. “I remember too,” he says. “It was incredible.”

“That first night, in the honky tonk. Best bathroom hookup of my life,” T.K. tells him.

“Only bathroom hookup of my life,” Carlos says.

“Yeah, I know,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“How could you know that?”

“Because you kept looking around like it was the most unsanitary thing you’d ever seen in your life,” T.K. tells him. “So I made it my mission to make you forget all about it. Pretty sure I succeeded.”

Carlos flushes as he  thinks about T.K.’s mouth and his hands and the way they felt on his body. “You definitely did.” His gaze drops to T.K.’s lips. “God, I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

T.K. smirks, clearly please that he’s turned Carlos on in the middle of this bar. “What’s stopping you?”

“Um the fact that all of our co-workers are here. And also your dad,” Carlos says with a laugh.

As if on cue Owen’s voice rings out over the crowd. “All right everyone!” He claps his hands a couple times. “If I could have everyone’s attention please! Thank you all for coming to the 126 Designs holiday party. I have a little surprise up my sleeve. Tonight, we are going to be participating in some holiday karaoke!”

A bar employee rolls a karaoke machine in out of nowhere to cheers from the crowd. “Did you know?” Carlos asks.

“No,” T.K. says. “But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Get on over here!” Owen encourages them. “Judd! Let’s hear a little Deck the Halls buddy!”

“Come on.”

T.K. reaches for Carlos’ hand and pulls him toward a side door. “Wait, what about karaoke?” Carlos asks.

“Do you really want to stay here and listen to my dad attempt a version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town?”

Carlos considers this. “Actually…”

T.K. laughs and tugs him again. “Come on Reyes.”

They step outside into the night, the door closing behind them. It’s quiet and the air has a slight chill. Nothing that would even hint at a white Christmas, but enough that it feels like the holiday season instead of the dead of summer. A few stars have managed to permeate the light pollution and the moon shines brightly above them.

The side of the restaurant is lit by a single streetlamp, giving them just enough light to see each other, but also the illusion of privacy from anyone else who might be walking by. T.K. leans against the brick of the wall and tugs Carlos toward him, dropping his hand so he can grab his waist, his thumb pressing into the crease between Carlos’ thigh and his hip through his pants. “Well,” T.K. says, the cocky ass smirk on his face that shoots something hot through Carlos’ veins. “Go ahead. Kiss away.”

Carlos looks around in fake concern. “Mmm, I don’t know. Someone could still see us out here.”

“Don’t worry,” T.K. pulls a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and dangles it over their heads. “I swiped this from inside. Now you have to kiss me. Christmas rules.”

“Oh is that right?” Carlos asks with smile, pressing in a little closer, and lifting a hand to run it through T.K.’s hair before sliding it down to cradle the back of his neck.

“Definitely,” T.K. says.

Carlos doesn’t waste another second before leaning in and fitting their lips together. The sparks inside him whirl and dance before bursting into full on flames. It feels like coming home. 

T.K. opens up and invites him in, their bodies coming flush together, searching for as much contact as possible. Carlos fists one hand into T.K.’s hair, the other landing solidly on his lower back and urging him closer, while T.K.’s roam everywhere, traveling Carlos’ biceps, his chest, his back, his ass, and everything in between. 

Carlos slots a thigh between T.K.’s legs, pressing into him and T.K.’s head falls back against the wall, eyes closing as he lets out something between a groan and a sigh. Carlos smiles and uses the change in position to press kisses into the sensitive spot just below his ear. “I missed you,” he says in between breaths.

“I missed you too. Am I going to have to report this to HR?” T.K. asks.

Carlos pauses and pulls back, sending T.K. a withering look. “Haha,” he says dryly. “Thanks for reminding me that I’m going to have my hands full with this one in the new year.”

“My ass is quite a handful,” T.K. says with a smirk. “But you can handle it. It’s just a little bit of paperwork. And someone got you really nice pens for the holidays.”

“Yeah someone did,” Carlos says, poking him in the side until he squirms. “Speaking of paperwork, you owe me a thank you note for your gifts.”

T.K. bites his lip. “Why don’t you take me back to your place and I’ll do a little better than a thank you note?”

Fuck. Carlos swallows hard. “What about the party? Won’t your dad be upset?”

“I’m spending Christmas day with him. He’ll live.” He slides a finger along the waistband of Carlos’ jeans. “We can go back in if you really want to though. I do a mean rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. We can stand in there with all of our co-workers and you can try not to think about how good I’d make you feel if the two of us were in bed together.”

Carlos strokes a thumb across T.K.’s cheek. “As much as I would like to hear you sing Jingle Bell Rock, I think I’d rather take you home.”

T.K. gestures toward the street. “Then lead on Festive Friend.”

It’s the merriest Christmas Carlos has had in a long time. 

#Tarlos #Tarlos Secret Santa #tarlossanta #tarlossanta23 #Festive Friends #Office AU #Christmas #Secret Santa #Christmas Fluff

[thisapplepielife]

Secret Santa

Written for the Second Annual Spicy Six Fanworks Challenge hosted by @thefreakandthehair.

Prompt: Office Party | Word Count: 6025 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ Only | Tags: Steddie, Steve POV, The Office AU, Office Setting, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Bathroom Sex, Mutual Assisted Masturbation, Holiday Party, Secret Santa, Background Jancy, Secret Relationship, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, Eddie & Gareth Friendship

Can also be read right here on Ao3.

This definitely has vibes borrowed from The Office. If you're familiar with that, you can picture Steve's desk as in the same location as Jim's.

Steve slumps behind his computer monitor at his desk, trying to make himself as small as possible. It's days like today that he really wishes their office had private cubicles instead of an open floor plan, because that'd actually give him somewhere to hide. As it is, with all of them out in the open, it means he's a sitting duck. No flimsy temporary wall to crouch down behind, no nothing at all between him and the horror that is lurking on the other side of the room.

And right now, he really wants somewhere to hide. But unless he wants to crawl under his desk, the room really doesn't offer much protection.

Honestly, he usually doesn't mind their setup at all. He likes the openness of it. He likes to see his coworkers all day. His friends. He likes to be able to talk, and yeah, to avoid work. He's nosy. He wants to see what insanity everyone else is up to every day. That always gives Robin and him things to gossip about later, and that's one of their favorite pastimes. He can look over at Robin behind the receptionist desk, and they can have long conversations with each other, using just their eyes. 

They can talk about a cute new girl (or guy, if Steve's the one looking) that's been hired. They can bitch about stupid policy changes. Or a co-worker being a fool. Anything, everything.

But not today. 

Today, Steve scoots down further in his chair, hoping that maybe he can make himself totally invisible, if he just wishes for it hard enough. 

Because right this minute, Nancy's on the party planning warpath, and he wants no part of it. Party planning isn't anything he's ever been good at, well, beyond hosting a few laidback keggers as a teen, he supposes. Those all went as expected. But office parties? No way. That fact should be obvious to all of them after they forced him onto the party planning committee back in August, and his choices just made them all clutch their pearls. 

Steve didn't know that even though there's a full list of silly, made-up holidays to choose from each month, apparently not all of those days are actually on the Nancy-approved list. Steve definitely didn't know that was an unspoken rule for the monthly morale party, so for August, he picked Work Like a Dog day, and convinced half of the office to show up in dog costumes. 

Nancy Wheeler didn't find it funny. At all.

That's okay, Steve thinks it was hilarious. 

If it wasn't actually an option for a party theme, then they shouldn't have put it on the goddamn list. 

And what the fuck does it matter, anyway? Honestly. The monthly staff party is just an excuse to have cake, punch, and thirty minutes longer for lunch. Nobody really wants to attend these office parties, anyway. Might as well make them a little more unpredictable, a little more fun.

The theme can't possibly matter. It's all bullshit. 

But now, here they are in December, and this is the annual holiday party they're talking about. Not a random monthly party. Oh no, this is the big one. The one that takes place after hours. 

And to Nancy, and the rest of the party planning committee, it matters. 

A lot.

So, Steve's hiding. Like a coward.

"You're such a coward," Steve hears from across his desk, a low, taunting hiss pointed in his direction. 

He doesn't look in the direction of the voice, because he's smart enough to not fuck this up with any sudden movements. He's aiming for invisible, after all, but he can't resist slowly raising his hand, flipping Eddie off in slow motion. 

Eddie laughs, so Steve knows the message landed, loud and clear, even if Steve never looked in his direction.

Fuck him for reading Steve's mind. Of course he's being a coward, but there's no reason to announce that fact. That's just rude.

Steve and Eddie share space, in their little group of desks. Steve sits on the end, and then there's two desks facing each other in front of him. Eddie is to his right, and it's really not so bad. Steve's had some weird fucking deskmates over the years, so much so, that having Eddie Munson at his side has been a breath of fresh air in comparison. A relief, even. Eddie's just loud, and messy.

Steve can handle loud and messy, even if Eddie's shit is apt to spill over onto Steve's desk most days, crowding him out of his own space. Steve can hold his client binder on his lap. That's no problem. Hell, he doesn't even get all that mad when Eddie gets too loud and gets them both disapproving looks. At least it's always fun while it's happening.

Gareth sits on the left, right across from Eddie, and right now he's slid down so far in his chair that he's practically under their desks, just like Steve. Smart kid, he's learning. 

Steve dares to glance over and see what's happening across the room. 

Nancy is leaning over Jonathan's desk, and Argyle is making faces behind her back. Nancy has eyes in the back of her head, so she definitely knows he's doing it, and Argyle is just asking for trouble. He's gonna get put on the party planning committee if he isn't careful. Which, Steve supposes, is a way better outcome than him getting recruited.

Nancy has her hand resting on Jonathan's shoulder as she talks to him, ignoring Argyle completely.

Steve isn't supposed to know that Jonathan and Nancy have been sneaking around the office, fucking in all the secluded corners of the warehouse, with far less stealth than they think they have. He doesn't blame them. He knows they don't want to go to HR and fill out the paperwork informing the company about their relationship.

Steve gets that. Because he also feels like it's none of the company's business who he fucks on his own time, and definitely wouldn't volunteer that information up willingly, either. None of them ever want to go deal with Murray for anything at all if they can help it. He asks far too many personal questions. It's always uncomfortable, and best to be avoided at all costs.

However, Steve thinks it's mighty funny that Nancy Wheeler, the rule-follower that she likes to pretend she is, is currently breaking them left and right. It honestly makes him like her even more.

And he does like her. Don't get him wrong, just not on party planning weeks. During those weeks, she's the enemy and must be wholly treated as such.

"Steve," Steve hears his name, a hushed whisper, and he turns to look at Robin sitting behind the reception desk.

He waves her off with a small hand movement. He needs to make sure Nancy has settled on haranguing Jonathan and Argyle before he dares to stick his neck out in the open.

Before Steve can say anything back to Robin, The Boss comes out of his office behind Steve's back, clapping his hands together for attention, and they all turn to look in his direction.

Bob Newby is kind of a goofball, and just a little bit doofy, but he's well-meaning. At least Steve's pretty sure he is. He doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body. As far as bosses go, they could all do way worse.

"Hey there," Bob says, clapping his hands together again, "I told Nancy to make the holiday party this year a big one. A fun one. A special one. And to do that, Steve's gonna help her. Right, Steve?"

Well, Steve wants to strangle Bob, now. Well-meaning, his ass. He's not only mean, he's evil. He's a filthy traitor that Steve would feed to wolves given half a chance after this utter betrayal.

But Steve nods, because he's not actually gonna tell Bob no. It's not worth the pitiful face he'll get in return. Eddie is laughing, and if Steve gets the angle right, he's pretty sure he can kick Eddie in the shin under their desks without even looking.

He hits the mark and Eddie hisses at the blow, and Steve bites back a smile. Eddie had that coming, the asshole.

Then Steve has a better idea, a meaner idea, and he sits up straighter in his chair, and turns and looks right at Eddie, pointedly, "Yeah, and Eddie offered to help me!"

If looks could kill, he'd be dead, but Eddie gets what he deserves. If he wants to be a jerk, he can just help Steve out with planning this shitshow. 

Bob is pleased at this though, and announces, "Great! Just don't pick anything scary, guys. I hate scary." 

Steve grins, wide. That's a directive for Eddie, not him, and it amuses Steve greatly. 

"Got it. Yeti and Krampus are out," Eddie says, with fake sincerity. 

Chrissy squeals with delight that they are both actually willing to help with this party. Willing is definitely a stretch of the imagination, but Steve and Eddie both smile at her. She's sweet, and Steve knows Eddie will do anything she asks him to, because he's that wrapped around her little finger.

That's okay, Steve's just as wrapped around Robin's, if not more, so he can't really throw any stones in Eddie's direction about that.

Steve nods, and gives Chrissy a tight smile. They'll make this work. It looks like they have to, since they definitely lost this round of office politics.

Nancy is glaring in their direction, suspicious, "Well, fine. We'll just have to plan for every possible disaster with you two in charge."

"Hey! The dog party was a barking success," Steve yells at her, and she huffs and spins around away from him. Annoyed. 

He smiles, and looks over at Eddie, and he's smiling back. 

Maybe this won't be the end of the world after all.

Later, after the dust has settled, Steve leans on Robin's desk, looking down at her, disapproving. He's eating his lunch standing up at her desk, both of them sharing what they have, passing things back and forth. 

Looking across the office, Steve can see into the break room, and Eddie is sitting at the closest table to the windows with Chrissy, both of them digging around in his metal lunchbox. They can leave for lunch, and sometimes they do, but most of the time they all just pack lunches and hang around. Sometimes, they'll all chip in and do a group order, running out to pick up burgers or pizza, but that takes advance planning, and that isn't exactly Steve's strong suit. 

Eddie is digging around in his lunchbox, and Steve wonders what Eddie has packed in there today, pretzels, maybe a sand-

"Focus, dingus. I tried to warn you," Robin hisses, and his attention is drawn away from Eddie and his mystery lunch, when Robin taps her hand on the counter in front of him.

Steve turns to look back at her, glaring. She's his best friend, but right now, she's definitely the enemy as Bob's secretary. She could have stopped this if she'd wanted to, he's absolutely sure of it.

"You're on the party planning committee," he accuses, "and you have Bob's ear. Why didn't you make this go away for me?" 

She wrings her hands, "I tried! Bob liked your dog party!"

Well, Steve has to laugh at that. That's what he gets for being smartass, he supposes. He tried to poke Nancy with a stick so he'd never have to have a turn at party planning ever again, and inadvertently just ended up coming across as a fun party planner to Bob. 

Goddamnit. That was not the desired effect he'd been hoping for.

So, now he's stuck. And this is his own fault, it seems. But at least he took Eddie down with him. That's the silver-lining, for sure.

Steve will make it work. It's only a week of hell. He can survive a week.

"Trust me, we tried. None of us wanted you in charge again," Robin snaps.

"Hey!" Steve shouts back, offended, and she just laughs. 

"Seriously. Nancy has standards, expectations, and dog parties aren't part of the playbook."

Steve smiles, "Well, I guess I should be left off any committees from now on."

"No such luck," Robin snarks, "but Nancy, Chrissy, Barb and I will definitely make sure whatever you two try to plan isn't dog party levels of weird."

"Gee, thanks. If you want to micromanage it, why don't you just do it yourselves? Wouldn't that just be easier for everyone involved?"

Robin shrugs, "Just make Bob happy. It's Christmas."

"Yeah, yeah," and Steve glances back, looking for Eddie again, and now he's sitting there playing finger football with Gareth as Chrissy watches. Both of them flicking a paper triangle back and forth across the break room table, trying to hit field goals through each other's finger goal posts. 

That's about the extent of any sports that either one of them has ever played, Steve's pretty damn sure.

Gareth, the new kid, started a while back, and Eddie took to him immediately. Steve has tried not to be jealous. But it was hard. He still kind of wanted Eddie and his attention all to himself, as selfish as that sounds.

But he's had to learn to share, both Eddie and their desk space with Gareth, and he's watched as Eddie has tried hard to shape Gareth into a good salesman. 

Robin's desk phone rings, and she picks it up, and he takes that as his cue to walk away. He heads towards the break room, and leans in the doorway, watching them play.

"I've got winner," Chrissy says, "but you can take on the winner of that match, if you want."

Steve nods and smiles, and walks on in, sliding into the only remaining chair left at the table.

When four-thirty rolls around, Bob comes over and sends Steve and Eddie off to start planning this party they are now in charge of together. At least they get a half-hour of paid nonsense time, Steve guesses.

So, now they sit in the empty meeting room at the long table, and just look at each other.

Finally, Eddie breaks the silence.

"Okay, smart guy, what's your big plan this time? Cat party?" Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow, challenging Steve.

"Yep. Pussy party," Steve says, deadpan, and Eddie tosses his head back and laughs, hair flying. 

Work has definitely been more entertaining since Eddie Munson showed up last year, all long-hair and lackadaisical attitude. Eddie doesn't conform to any sort of standard expectations, won't, but he can sell like a motherfucker. He has a silvertongue that Steve only wishes he possessed. Steve can sell, too. But he has to lean heavily on being earnest. That's his angle. 

But it's not Eddie's. No, Eddie can just bullshit his way through sales with anyone on the fly, easily meeting his quota and walking away with a damn good commission check every payday, and that hardly seems fair. Steve's been here forever, but Eddie took to it so much quicker.

"Pussy hats for everyone, and the party favors? Pocket pussies," Eddie states, still exploring this party idea with a shit-eating grin, and it makes Steve giggle.

If only. 

Though, this still might be fun to plan together, even if that can't actually be the theme. Nancy would murder them both.

They better do something safe, like Secret Santa. Bob always likes that, and this is really for him more than it is the staff, Steve's pretty damn sure.

They can just go traditional, make everyone happy and save themselves a lot of grief. 

That doesn't mean they won't sit here and bullshit, like they are really talking this thing through in great detail.

"Secret Santa? That's the theme?" Robin asks later, clearly disappointed.

"Classic. Easy peasy," Steve says, leaning on the tall counter that runs around her desk. He's waiting for her to finish up so they can leave together. 

Tonight, they're all going to happy hour at Chili's. They do that from time to time. Most of the office meeting up after work to drink and let loose.

"Lazy, uninspired," she taunts, and he reaches out like he's going to flick her ear, but she dodges his hand, laughing. "Bob's gonna be disappointed in you."

"He won't. He'll love it," Steve says, and Robin knows it. She's just being difficult. "Will you make up the slips so we can draw names, or not?" he asks, trying to give her the eyes. They don't really work on her, not anymore. But he still tries.

"Fine, but this is not fun. I was expecting dog party levels of unhinged theming from you both. You disappoint me."

"You love me," Steve counters.

"Of course I do, dingus. Now leave me alone so I can finish up and we can get the fuck out of here."

He presses his hands together, bowing to her, just a little, and then heads back to his desk. Eddie is still on the phone, wheeling and dealing, like a pro. 

Making money, even after hours. 

Asshole. 

Gareth is sitting at their desks, watching Eddie with wide eyes. 

"He's good, right?" Steve asks, and Gareth nods. "It's okay if it's hard to make sales, especially at first. It's hard for all of us, except Eddie. But he's a freak."

Eddie hears him, and sticks his tongue out, not missing a beat of his phone call.

"You'll get better. I promise," Steve says, turning to look at Gareth.

Gareth nods again, and Steve smiles. Steve was probably not that much younger than him when he started working here, and it looks so young now, seeing it on Gareth. He never thought he'd still be here, all these years later. 

But he's made friends here, good friends. His best friend. If he never worked here, he'd never have met Robin, and that'd be a goddamn tragedy. 

And he met Eddie, so honestly, he doesn't have too many complaints.

Turns out, Nancy loves the Secret Santa theme, which Steve isn't surprised about. It's right up her alley. Normal, basic, a classic. No dog costumes to be found.

"What's the price limit?" she asks, holding her notepad in hand, and Steve looks at her. Is he supposed to decide that? He feels like that's a job for her, or maybe even Bob.

"Twenty-five dollars?" he offers, and she thinks about it for a minute, then nods, writing it in her notes, apparently agreeing with his assessment. 

Great.

"And, is it a traditional Secret Santa where we draw names, or a white elephant situation?"

"Um, traditional?" he hazards a guess and she nods, happy. Apparently that was the right answer, again. He's on a roll today. Hot damn. Maybe he needs to buy a lottery ticket.

Steve sits at the high top table at Chili's, sharing an Awesome Blossom with Robin and drinking his third margarita. Eddie didn't show up. Steve is pretty sure he said he was coming, but now Eddie, Gareth, Chrissy, Jeff and Goodie are all no-shows. 

That's okay. 

But he would have gone home instead of coming himself if he knew Eddie was bailing. Not that he isn't enjoying spending time with Robin and everyone else, he is, but still. 

He raises his finger, ordering one more drink. Robin's definitely gonna have to drive him home. 

The next morning, Nancy drops off a list of party vendors for him to call, and Steve pushes it towards Eddie. He's the one with phone magic.

And Steve's a little hungover. Eddie's not. 

Not to mention Steve's still a little mad at Eddie for deciding to skip happy hour without telling him. 

"Hey, don't be pushing your chores off on me," Eddie says, pushing it back across the desk in Steve's direction.

They both push on the paper, in a stalemate, wrinkling it under their fingers.

Steve gives him the eyes, "C'mon. You know you'll have better luck. We'll get an awesome cake, and a great meat and cheese plate if you call. You know it."

"Which is ironic, because if the little old ladies working could see me, and then see you, it'd be you they'd be falling over themselves to please," Eddie says.

Steve rolls his eyes. Little old ladies love Eddie, at least after they look past his clothes and hair. He's too charming for them to not love him. He's got a chivalry that is innate, and Steve doesn't have that at all. He likes to think he's nice, but he's not as charismatic. The Harrington Charm is a different beast than whatever Eddie has going on, that's for damn sure.

Eventually, Eddie takes the paper, and picks up the handset of his phone, and starts dialing the first number, and Steve just grins, pleased.

He listens, and tries to ignore the dull headache that's plagued him all morning.

When Eddie hangs up the phone, he looks at Steve, "Shoulda came to Poor Richard's with us, like you said you would, and then you wouldn't have a hangover from all that chain restaurant cheap well tequila."

Steve glowers at him. They've been over this fifty times. Nobody said they were going to Poor Richard's last night. It was Chili's, and the fact that everyone else showed up at Chili's except for Eddie and his friends, is all the proof Steve needs.

Eddie didn't listen, and they ended up at different bars. 

But Steve forgives him as he keeps making calls, and before long they have everything in order for next week's party.

And a week later, they all sit around in a circle of chairs like they're kindergarteners, which feels foolish. But Bob is clearly having fun, dressed in his full Santa suit, as he pulls the wrapped packages out of the bag and passes them around to their rightful owners.

It's fine. Lots of generic gift boxes. Hot cocoa samplers. Summer sausage and cheese gift sets. Blankets, mugs, candy. A foot bath. Just stuff. More things that nobody really needed, Steve's sure, but it makes Bob happy, so they all at least pretend to be excited about whatever they've gotten.

They all thank their Secret Santa, and it's all very normal. Boring. So boring. 

But Steve has a plan for later that he thinks won't be quite as boring as this has been.

The gifts all opened, Steve holds open the plastic trash bag as Eddie picks up the wrapping paper off the chairs, the floor. Tidying up while the rest of the committee goes and starts getting the bar set up.

Steve isn't sure how Bob swung it, but they actually get to serve alcohol this year. 

Jeff and Goodie volunteered to play bartender, and that's great with Steve. He was sure he'd get stuck doing it, with Eddie's help if he was lucky. But this is better. Way better. They'll be able to just enjoy themselves.

As soon as it's up and running, Steve and Eddie are first in line for a drink. Steve goes easy on them, but Eddie's trying to order things they definitely don't have the supplies for. The budget was limited and they decided to stick to the most popular basics. 

Goodie listens to Eddie lists off his third try at an elaborate drink order, and then just pours Eddie a Jack and Coke.

"Just what I wanted," Eddie says, picking it up with a snarky grin.

They're a few drinks in, and the music has been turned up, when Steve nods towards Eddie, ready to slip away during the confusion. Steve shakes a wrapped gift in his hand, and Eddie quirks an eyebrow, curious, and follows him out into the hallway. They ride the elevator up one floor in silence, and then Steve leads Eddie into the empty bathroom on the floor right above their office space.

They can hear the thumpa thumpa of the music down below, feel it vibrating beneath their feet. Gareth and Argyle have teamed up to play DJ, and Steve is sure Nancy hates the music choices. They definitely aren't playing classic Christmas tunes, that's for damn sure.

Steve pushes the wrapped gift into Eddie's chest, and Eddie sits his drink down on the sink.

"What is this?" Eddie asks, looking down at the gift in his hands. He wasn't expecting it, clearly.

"Well, I didn't draw your name for the official Secret Santa, but I still wanted you to have your party favor," Steve says, trying to keep a straight face. This is a ridiculous thing to do. Especially at work. "Open it."

He watches while Eddie tears off the wrapping paper, throwing it onto the bathroom floor, and then Eddie's looking down at the fleshlight he's holding in his hands. 

And he promptly blushes a deep crimson.

Holy shit. 

Steve had no idea that Eddie could blush. Maybe this wasn't a great idea. Maybe he's about to lose his job for sexual harassment at work. At Christmas, no less.

Then, Eddie laughs. Loud and amused, eyes lighting up.

"Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess," Eddie says, turning over the toy in his hands, walking into the open stall. Steve follows.

"Not a sex toy guy?" Steve asks, crowding a little closer to him.

"Not a pussy guy," Eddie answers, then laughs, "I thought you knew that, Steve."

Yeah, Steve knew that. But he pretends he didn't.

"Oh no, do they make pocket assholes? Maybe we could exchange it, get you what you really like," Steve teases.

And Eddie grins, dimples showing, as he presses the toy back into Steve's chest, and Steve takes it. 

"This one is just my favorite, and I thought you might like it," Steve says, looking Eddie right in the eye, standing nearly nose-to-nose in the cramped bathroom stall. 

And Eddie is looking back at him, with an expression Steve can't really read. It looks like he's maybe surprised Steve is cool. Which is crazy. Steve's cool. Steve's been fucking guys since he was in college, girls even earlier than that. He's not really all that fussed about it. Boys, girls, both at the same time, once. 

That was an interesting night, to be sure. Not one he expects to repeat anytime soon, but it's definitely an experience he's glad he had. 

Steve holds the toy in his hand, studying it carefully, and then he looks up into Eddie's eyes. 

"You wanna try it?" Steve asks, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Now?" Eddie asks, dropping his voice low, sounding shocked at this suggestion. 

Steve shrugs, and Eddie eventually nods, slowly. 

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that," Eddie says, putting both of his hands on Steve's arms, squeezing.

"Are you sure you want to do this here? I was just kidding," Steve asks, even if he wasn't, not really. But he still wants to make sure this is something Eddie is actually interested in doing with him, here and now, and not something he's pushing onto him like a big, fucking creep.

Eddie nods and smiles, so Steve presses him back against the wall of the bathroom stall, Steve's palm firm on Eddie's shoulder. He hands the fleshlight back to Eddie, and digs a packet of lube out of his pocket, handing that over, too.

Steve reaches for Eddie belt, his zipper, and carefully, slowly, undoes his pants. Pulling them down over his ass, boxers going down with them, and then he's just looking. Staring. Wanting.

Eddie's already drizzled lube into the opening of the fake silicone pussy, so Steve takes it from him. Steve doesn't touch Eddie's dick, although it's straining, red and flushed at the tip, begging for Steve's undivided attention.

And as much as Steve wants to give it that attention, wants to drop to his knees, throw the toy aside and suck Eddie's dick, he doesn't.

Instead, Steve grips the pocket pussy in his hand, and angles it, lining it up as best he can. He nods at Eddie, and holds it steady as Eddie pushes into it. Unsure at first, but after a few test thrusts, Steve feels the pressure, the force, behind the snap of Eddie's hips with every thrust. And Steve thinks about what it'd be like if it was him Eddie was pushing his dick into, instead of this toy.

His own dick is hard, so fucking hard, just watching this happen. He can't tear his eyes away. He watches Eddie's dick go in and out.

Eddie groans, leaning forward and resting his forehead on Steve's shoulder, still moving his hips. Still fucking, still pushing his cock into the toy in Steve's hand. Again, and again. 

Steve can't see now, but he can feel it. Can hear it.

It's noisy and loud, making a filthy, wet, squelching sound that sounds even more scandalous as they're hidden away in a public bathroom. Like they might get caught any second, doing this devious thing together.

Eddie winds his arms around Steve's back, and holds on tight. The action brings them even closer together, which is making it harder for Steve to maneuver his hand and the toy between their bodies, but Steve will make it work. He keeps a good grip on the fleshlight, making sure Eddie can keep moving his hips, keep pushing his dick into it, over and over again, even as he leans his weight on Steve.

"That pussy feel good?" Steve whispers, pressing his face into Eddie's hair. He smells good, and Steve leans into him.

Eddie whimpers, and nods against Steve's shirt, and Steve twists his hand, just a little, and Eddie moans. 

"All pretty and pink, wet, begging for your cock," Steve whispers. "It's a pretty cock, you've got. You know that?"

He just yammering, and he's pretty sure Eddie isn't even listening. That's okay, Steve's happy to do the heavy lifting here. 

"I bet it feels good. All tight, hugging your dick the whole way down.. Are you pretending it's a girl?" Steve asks, then lowers his voice, right next to Eddie's ear, "Or are you pretending it's me?"

Eddie's hips stutter, and then he pushes harder against Steve's hand.

"Steve," Eddie breathes out, and Steve smiles.

"I'd bend right over for you," Steve says, "beg you to push your cock in me."

Steve can tell by the change in Eddie's breathing that he's getting close to coming. Goddamn. That's a pretty sight and sound.

Steve's own dick is straining in his pants, wanting.

"Would you come inside me?" Steve asks, and that's it. Eddie groans, and pushes his dick into the toy as far as he can, coming. Steve presses his face in Eddie's hair, kissing the side of his head.

Eddie pulls back from Steve's body, and then slides his dick out of the toy with a sloppy, wet sound, and they both laugh. Steve looks down at Eddie's heavy cock, spent and wet, and wants. Wants to put his mouth on Eddie, wants to lick him clean.

He thinks he will, but Eddie interrupts his thoughts.

"You want sloppy seconds?" Eddie asks, and Steve nearly comes in his pants as he nods. 

That's not something he had thought of, but he hands the toy to Eddie, and reaches for his own zipper. He pulls his neglected dick out, palms it, strokes it. It's so hard. Eddie's made him so fucking hard, so horny, he can't even think straight.

"Look at you, big boy," Eddie says, and he doesn't keep his hands to himself. He strokes Steve once, twice, and then helps guide him into the used toy.

It's still kind of warm inside, sloppy and wet with Eddie's come, and Steve feels like a deviant, but doesn't really give a fuck. Not really.

Because this is good.

So goddamn good.

Eddie presses his mouth to Steve's, and they kiss while Steve thrusts into the toy in Eddie's hand, and it's one of the dirtiest things he's ever done in his whole life.

Steve's just getting into a nice rhythm, when Eddie takes the toy away, and replaces it with his mouth. Goddamn, that's better. That's so much better.

Eddie pulls off, and looks up at him, "You taste like me."

Steve groans, letting his head fall back against the metal wall of the stall, closing his eyes as Eddie sucks his dick, then slides it back into the fleshlight, alternating. Dragging this out, extending it, and it's beyond anything he could have ever dreamed up.

He had a small idea, a basic one, and Eddie has taken that and crafted it into a fucking experience of a lifetime.

Steve tangles his hands in Eddie's hair, and looks down to meet Eddie's eyes, as he continues to work his cock, over and over. 

"You gonna come in my mouth or in the pussy?" Eddie asks, hand stroking Steve's dick lazily, looking up at him for an answer. He wants both. How can he choose?

But if he doesn't choose, he's gonna come in Eddie's hand. Still good, but a distant third among the options available. 

"Your mouth," Steve finally says.

"Good choice, Harrington," Eddie answers, and slides his mouth over Steve's dick again, and again, until Steve can't hold out any longer. 

He comes right against Eddie tongue, and Eddie pulls off, looks up at him, and swallows.

Merry Fucking Christmas to him. Jesus.

They straighten their clothes, try to smooth out all the wrinkles, and Eddie takes a gulp of his now watered down whiskey sitting on the bathroom counter, swishing it in his mouth, and spitting into the sink.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Steve asks, holding the wet and freshly washed fleshlight in his hand.

"Take it home. Use it later and think of me," Eddie says, holding out the box Steve had wrapped it in. 

Steve puts it back, and takes the box from Eddie's hands.

He'll do just that.

Eddie pushes him against the bathroom door, and kisses him again, and this is the best night of Steve's life, he's pretty goddamn sure.

They ride the elevator down, and when they're back in their own office, Steve shoves the now unwrapped box into his desk drawer and follows Eddie back towards the rest of their partying co-workers.

Their friends.

Eddie starts bouncing on his feet, dancing with Chrissy and Steve smiles as he watches. Everybody seems to be having fun, and Steve decides this was a success. 

Later that night, long after the party had winded down, Steve crawls into bed at home, and curls into Eddie's side.

"Have fun tonight?" Steve asks, and Eddie runs his hand up and down Steve's arm.

"Yeah, I especially liked the part where my boyfriend acted like we've never fucked before," Eddie says, throwing his leg over Steve's hip. 

"Very funny."

Eddie laughs, "We're gonna have to file our relationship with HR sooner or later. I'm pretty sure my poker face is horrendous, and they're gonna figure it out."

Steve nods. He knows. Though, he's pretty fucking everyone in the office knows already, anyway. Gareth clocked them his first week, not realizing it was a secret. So, it's obvious. Eddie loves him, and Eddie can't hide that look on his face, not at all. It makes Steve so fucking happy that Eddie feels that way about him, like he loves him so much that he can't pretend he doesn't. 

That they love each other this much.

So, they're gonna have to fess up. That's okay, he doesn't actually give a shit. They aren't gonna fire him, and they definitely aren't gonna fire Eddie. He's unorthodox, but he brings in tons of cash and clients.

And they're just co-workers, there's nothing saying they can't be together. 

"I can't believe you wrapped your pocket pussy and dragged it to work," Eddie laughs, burying his nose in Steve's hair.

Steve grins.

"Surprised you, though?" Steve asks, turning his head, to smile at Eddie.

"Definitely surprised me," Eddie answers, grinning right back.

Notes: Nancy seem familiar? Yeah, she was definitely inspired by Angela from The Office, with that party planning committee vibe, lol. I needed someone to be that character, and Nancy seemed more likely than Robin or Chrissy. And the "prepare for every possible disaster" line is a Angela-ism, from the S2 ep, as told by Ryan. I like to think Dwight, or a Dwight-like character, was Steve's deskmate before Eddie.

And Nancy and Jonathan's whole secret (Dwight and Angela style) relationship random mention was added just so I could accurately tag secret relationship, but that it might slip past that I was also referring to Steve and Eddie, lol. Could you have known they were together before Steve did the sex toy thing? For sure. Was it more fun for me to imagine, just for a second, that he was just being very forward and inappropriate with co-worker Eddie who wasn't expecting it? Of course.

Work Like a Dog day is August 5th if you want to add to your calendar, lol.

Bob! ❤️ I think this might be the first time I've had a place to use him in a fic.

Chili's and Poor Richard's were both shout-outs to The Office, many thanks to them for lending me their set-up for this fic. As soon as I chose this prompt, The Office, was the first idea in my head.

And trying to pin down the exact year this is set in made my head hurt. It must be, like, 1999. Then fleshlights exist, but cell phones aren't glued to our hands quite yet. But pussy hats are much more modern. But then Awesome Blossoms are discontinued. I don't know. It's an alternate universe. Go with it. 🤣

Thanks for reading! ❤️

#SpicySixWinterFanworksChallenge #steddie #steddie ficlet #the office au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #christmas fic #holiday party #secret santa #thisapplepielife: short fic

[madeofbees]

#the office #santa clarita diet #nbc hannibal #Hannibal #hannibal lecter #joel hammond #sheila hammond #hannigram #will Graham #spot the difference #the office memes #hannigram memes #hannibal memes #pam beesly #find the difference

[sugartitstownley]

“Even on the way over here I think I killed someone. And you know what? I don’t care.”

#just normal things in Dr. Friedlander’s office #michael de santa #michael townley #my screencaps

[businessmemes]

merry business to all, and to all a productive night

#business #businesscore #business memes #office space #nostalgia #memes #vaporwave #retro #80s aesthetic #retro tech #80s #christmas #christmas office party #egg nog #xmas #santa claus #business claus #retro computing #merry christmas

[gifs-of-puppets]

A Muppets Christmas: Letters to Santa (2008)

#a muppets christmas: letters to santa #letters to santa #the muppets #gonzo #miss piggy #jesse l martin #mail #post office #conveyor belts #christmas special #muppet #muppets #gif #muppet gif #muppets gif #my gif

[caenith]

Annatar Santa was a little late but he finally found his way to me! 🥰

LOOK AT THIS!

HOW PRETTY IS THAT???

I'm gonna be the queen of organising & planning stuff in 2024 💪

Pspsps @goldfarthing 💖 keep blessing us with your talent!!!

#tolkien #It's beautiful! 🥺 #Jirt what do you mean there's nothing important happening in M-E on my birthday? Come here we need to talk #Also Santa was technically speaking not late #I'm just dumb #I missed an email from the customs #And the email from post office #So the package has been waiting for me since 19th of Dec #💀

[preservationofnormalcy]

A car-sized lizard thing jumped on my shed last night and, in a human-like voice, yelled "merr Crimbus!" before... frolicking away through a field and into the woods. Its footprints are still frozen over (not to mention blindingly sparkly). It's hardly even November. Ugh.

Anyway, do you know anyone who can un-crumple a shed that's been stomped on by a weird lizard with reasonable cost and haste?

...was it dressed in a Santa-like getup? Gonna take a wild guess and say that's not one of Kringle's licensed reps. He's pretty image-conscious, all the reps have to look pretty similar, like him. Aside from the eyepatch, anyway, that's not required.

Usually if you look in the newspaper ads you'll see something like "heavy duty construction, no questions asked." If they don't look at you like you're insane, you found the right place.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #ask #advice #santa

[eopederson]

Law Offices, Pico, Santa Monica, 2023.

#architecture #art moderne #office building #santa monica #los ángeles county #california #2023 #photographers on tumblr

[aefensteorrra]

I do not have even an ounce of the social energy required for tomorrow... it's going to be so much

#have to go out today to buy a secret santa present too #which. thankfully I got the one person I have a few things in common with #so I'm going to buy tea?? apparently that's a very normal secret santa present #but the office christmas party is also tomorrow and uhhhhhh #I am much better physically today than yesterday but it's still like. not at all appealing #I could leave very early I guess #but yeah ideally today would also be spent in bed to prepare #so I'm gonna try to run my errands incredibly quickly lol

[moonlightonmyscars]

getting the urge to write a rosekiller christmas fic

#i can see it now #something cutesy and cozy #but a little chaotic #or maybe evan has to dress up as santa for a holiday office party and a drunk barty tries to flirt with him #my fic ideas

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

huh

(Source one)(source two)

#yeah they’re brothers alright #arjuna #karna #Asha #Santa jeanne alter lily #fgo #my post #offical art #well kind of it’s by pako

[housewifebuck]

hiii cam!! alskdjdh this is gold I NEED to see this now 😂

I'm just picturing him in the entire Santa getup and him keeping on messing with his beard bc it's so scratchy and Buck keeps on having to fix it for him (Buck definitely does not have a Santa kink now absolutely not). And at one point a kid comes and keeps on asking him questions about how the North Pole works and how he's able to get to every kid in one night etc, and Eddie is just sweating in his seat trying to keep this lie going until he just runs off byyeee

AHAHHAAHANSNDDJSM Eddie’s like um….elves. And the kid is like mmm no elves make the toys they don’t deliver them:/ and Eddie’s like that’s it. Naughty list. Goodbye

#and the kid goes home crying #Bobby’s like okay let’s give someone else a turn as Santa #asks #office hours #ALSO SANTA KINK #KJ PEAAASEEEEE