Sleighed
M.K Vindictiv
Copyright © 2024 by M.K Vindictiv
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial use as permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact M.K Vindictiv.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and product/s is intended or should be inferred.
Edited by Ashleigh Van Arkkels at AVA Book Editing
Book Cover by Pixel and Quill Studio
Formatting by M.K Vindictiv
First edition 2024
For those wondering what it would be like
to get railed in Santa’s sleigh.
Chapter oneKris
December 20th
I am so fucking sick of listening to Christmas carols.
You’d think after living in Santa’s village for the last sixteen years I would be used to the year round Christmas cheer, but the older I get, the more the wonder and novelty has worn off and the more I feel myself turning into the Grinch.
When I arrived in Santa’s village as a thirteen-year-old, it had felt like a totally overwhelming whirlwind. After spending so many years with just my mom, suddenly being thrown into a new family—and not just any family, but what felt like the most perfect family in existence—made me more than a little bah humbug toward the Christmas spirit.
My mom met Klaus, better known as Santa Claus to everyone else, on December twenty-fourth, sixteen years ago.
Sneaking downstairs to catch a peak at Santa led to more of an eyeful than I expected. I found my mom pinned up against the wall, Santa’s tongue down her throat, underneath the mistletoe we had hung the night before.
Mom and Klaus quickly developed an obsession with each other, and by December twenty-sixth, our bags were packed, and we were on our way to relocate as far north as someone could get.
My natural response to act like a jerk was no match for the allure of being the outsider in such a tight-knit community. It didn’t take long for the elves my age to flock to me, especially the girls. Even when I wanted to be left alone, it only made them work harder for my attention.
You’d think that now I am an adult the novelty of being Santa’s stepson would have worn off, but it hadn’t and for that my dick was incredibly thankful.
The garage door opens, letting in flurries of snow, sending chills fluttering down my spine. The sleigh above me doing little to shield me from the blustery winds that wrap around the sleigh’s expansive frame with me lying beneath it.
My jaw tenses as the sound of the carols get louder, almost drowning out the music I’m blasting through the garage’s stereo.
My molars grind together as I try to focus on the heavy drumbeat and the wrench in my hand, blocking out the town’s festive cheer and the gray-haired elf currently examining my work.
Theodore Honey-Pickle was slowly becoming the bane of my fucking existence. Him and those damn curled shoes he insisted on tapping near my face as he waited for me to acknowledge his presence.
Ever since his promotion to Head Elf, he had taken it upon himself to do regular check-ups on the status of my progress, and my tolerance for the middle-aged tyrant was diminishing rapidly.
He picks a piece of lint off his bright green elf uniform. The gold trim marking him as Head Elf glittered as he slowly walks around the sleigh jotting notes on his parchment.
If I grit my teeth any harder, I was likely to break one.
My forearms strain, gripping the wrench tighter in my hand. Veins pop out across the backs of my hands, traveling up the corded muscles of my forearms as they flex with the strength needed to loosen the bolt holding the compressor in place.
“Are you sure you will have the sleigh ready by the twenty-fourth, Kristopher?” His inclination to use my full name has me tensing my fingers around the wrench, my knuckles turning white as I imagine the wrench flying at his stupid face. The thought has one side of my lips curling up.
Ever since the man I was named after left on the eve of my fifth birthday, no one had called me that name, not even my mother. However, Theodore took great delight in the way I reacted every time he mentioned it.
“Yes.” The wrench slips from my grasp, causing me to hiss in annoyance at both it and the elf analyzing my every move. It bangs against my fingers and crashes to the floor with a resounding clank, missing my face by mere inches. "Fuck!"
Using the rails for support, my back flush with the creeper as I slide myself out from underneath the bottom of the sleigh. Sitting up on the board, I rub my hands as the elf glares at me through tiny gold-rimmed spectacles. He noticeably flinches at my use of the F word.
“It's just that there’s…” Theodore pushes his jacket aside, his hand reaching for the chain attached to a golden pocket watch, the lid decorated with a beautifully engraved gift box. As he yanks on the chain, it jingles softly, adding to his sense of urgency. “Only 109 hours left till launch and the reindeer haven’t had their test flight yet,” he mutters. “They were supposed to be air-bound twenty-four hours ago.”
He slips the watch back into his pocket before hastily rolling out the parchment now tucked in the crook of his elbow. His to-do list would give the naughty and nice lists Klaus checks every year a run for their money.
Paper rustles as he rifles through the scroll, muttering to himself. I ignore his ramblings, finding amusement in the way the tips of his ears turn pinker the more frazzled he gets.
I stand, placing one foot up against the sleigh railing as I lean back, pulling a packet of cigarettes out from the back pocket of my overalls. The packet is slightly squished after the hours I’ve spent under the hood.
Not bothering to wipe my fingers free of the grease, I pull out a smoke and hold it between my lips. My lighter flicks open with a satisfying click and seconds later the tip of the cigarette glows brightly as I inhale, feeling slightly calmer as the smoke moves through my lungs.
“Stop stressing, Theodore. I told you it would be done.” The smoke escapes from my lips, slithering into the air, backlit by the glow of the fairy lights as I answer.
