When Kris first moved in I had thought it was just a hormone response, my need to explore my body like any normal teenager, that had me jerking into my fist multiple times a day.

In school, we were told it was normal to develop sexual attractions towards people, but we were never told how to react when that person was not only of the same sex but living under the same roof.

How could my feelings ever be normal if they were towards someone who not only was the most breathtaking man I’d ever seen, but also someone who now most people in the village referred to as my brother?

I told myself when I met the right girl, these feelings would disappear. Sixteen years on and I still jerked into my fist regularly over the thought of what he could do to me.

Swallowing the lump caught in my throat, I excused myself to the kitchen to grab some water. Kris’ jade green eyes locking on mine as I crossed the room.

A few minutes later, I stood at the stove stirring the gravy as Carol entered back in.

“Oh Nick, you didn’t have to finish that.” I shrug.

“It’s fine Carol, my pleasure.” Looking around the room and noting Kris’ absence, “Where is Kris?”

“Oh, he just ran upstairs to clean up before dinner. Don’t want to get grease all over Grandma Holly’s favorite table cloth.” Humming we wish you a merry Christmas, as she applied the finishing touches to the last of the vegetables. We work in companionable silence as we both mull around the kitchen.

Though I’m sure her thoughts aren’t filled with the dripping wet man washing himself in the bathroom above us.

“Are you ready for the big night, my boy?” My father asked, shoving another fork full of roasted meat into his mouth. His voice naturally booming so loud it just about shook the crystalware off the table.

“Of course, Father. You’ve been preparing me my whole life for this. I’m more than ready.”

I didn’t feel ready.

In fact, I felt so far from ready I would be more than happy to pack a bag and go live off the land never to be seen from again, but as a Claus I had no other option.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” My father’s cheeks appeared redder tonight. They usually had a rosy hue to them but the butterscotch brandy he had been drinking all meal had clearly taken its effect, adding more color to his cheeks and a slur to his words.

I have never seen my father drunk before. As Santa Claus, his life ran on schedules and routine. The need to be available at any moment for an emergency had taken its toll on his spontaneity, and the carefree man now sitting at the end of the table almost felt like a stranger.

“I have a meeting with Teddy in the morning to discuss where we are in the preparations, a walk through the workshop to oversee any final making and wrapping of presents, and probably finishing my night off with one last check through the list.” I rattled off, using my napkin to wipe away any gravy from my lips, catching Kris staring at the movement out of the corner of my eye.

The list was sure to turn my already graying hair white by Christmas Eve.

How could one decide if a child had been good or not? What was the line of no return for a child to be moved to the naughty list? Is a child who forgets their chores destined for the same fate as one who intentionally sets their neighbor’s yard on fire?

The stress of making the right call was sure to give me an aneurysm by the time Christmas Eve came.

“Good, good,” my father praised. “A Claus’ work is never done. Enjoy it my boy, this will be a week you will never forget. Your first Christmas will always be your most special.”

A small scoff came from the other side of the table and all our eyes landed on Kris, leaning back, one arm slung casually over the chair and pushing peas back and forth around his plate. His still damp hair hanging over his face in messy onyx curls just like his mother’s.

Although unlike his mother’s long curly locks, Kris kept his hair cropped shorter at the sides, keeping the top longer so the curls nestled across his forehead in haphazard waves that made him look like he had either just climbed out of bed or spent hours styling them to lie in just the right spot.

“Something to add, Kris?” My father’s eyes turn hard, eyebrows raising. The soft, playful nature that had surrounded him as Santa Claus seemed lost on Kris.

They had a knack for butting heads, and it seemed like they couldn’t agree on anything, no matter the topic.

“No, sir.” He waves his finger in mock salute, not even bothering to look up from his food.

My father straightens in his chair, his whole body stiffening as he took in Kris.

His band tee with the sleeves cut off  covered most of the muscles I had stared at for far too long before, only a sliver of skin showing on each side of his ribs and his chiseled arms. 

Just by looking at Kris you could tell he spent all day working with his hands. His forearms had a definition to them that I could only dream of. Sculpted with deep veins noticeable as he grips his fork tighter, fully aware of the scrutiny that he’s now under.

“Since you’re so eager to join the conversation, Kris, how is the sleigh going?” My father’s grip turns white against the wide bottom of his brandy glass, waiting for Kris’ response.

“It’s going.”

“That is not what I have been hearing.” My father huffs into his glass as he takes a deep pull of the amber liquid.

“Oh.” Kris drops his fork and stares up at my father, a challenge radiating in his eyes, “And what have you been hearing, Klaus?”

“That you have been fucking half of the elf population and too busy to actually get the one job we trusted you to complete on time?” Spit flies from my father’s mouth, his jarring words startling Carol enough to drop her own fork as she covers her mouth.

“Jeez. I’m surprised old Theodore could even get those words out, since he practically cried when I said the word fuck this afternoon.” His casual words fell in stark contrast to his body language, poised ready to fight my father.

“I can’t believe I even trusted you with such an important job. You’d think at twenty-nine you would have gotten your shit together enough to actually show some responsibility around here.” Kris’ fists clench on the table before he pulls them out of sight, dropping them to his lap.

“I had higher hopes for you, but I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the useless tree.” Carol gasps at the jab of Kris’ biological father.

The way Kris' dad left Carol and him to fend for themselves was not something we ever discussed. It was a low blow, even for him.

Carol’s eyes flick over to Kris, tears brimming her lashes as she inhales a small shuddering breath before attempting to excuse herself from the table.

My father, realizing his mistake, places a hand over his wife’s before she could stand. Rubbing his thumb in circles as he speaks to her, hushed whispers of apology, soothing the burn of his careless words.

My attention drifts back to Kris, who sits silent, glaring a hole through the table, his knife and fork gripped tightly in his hands.

Although it wasn’t the right time for indulging in fantasies, I couldn’t help but imagine his large, rough hands firmly holding onto my pulsing dick, his forearms displaying the sculpted muscles he had developed through the daily use of his tools.

His gaze slowly drifts up, looking between my father and Carol and dropping to their joined hands, lip curling as Carol nods something in agreement with my father.

Slamming back his chair, the legs scrape across the hardwood floors in an ear splitting squeak, the glassware shuddering under his movement.

“Fuck this.” He spits, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it. Drawing in a lung full before blowing it dramatically over the table.

“Kris?” my father stammers, his eyes pleading.

Kris, threw one hurt look back at his mom before flipping off the table over his head as he made his exit.

“Merry FUCKING Christmas,” he barks back before slamming the front door so hard the windowpanes rattle.

Chapter threeNick