Jeremy hadn’t been in bed longer than five minutes when Damon sauntered into the boarding house living room, where Elena was nursing a cup of eggnog and watching the fire crackle.
“Kid’s finally asleep. Told him hours ago to let a certain jolly man do his good work, but it seems someone let the cat out of the bag about the whole Santa thing.”
Elena let out a dramatic gasp, still facing the fire. “You mean he’s not real?”
“You tell me,” he answered in his campiest seductive growl.
She turned quizzically, and the second she saw Damon her jaw dropped. He’d swapped out his Christmas Eve best—which looked a lot like his standard Tuesday best—for a luxe red silk robe that lightly skirted his bare thighs. His eyes looked suspiciously more defined than usual—was that eyeliner?—and a sack of bulky boxes was slung over his right shoulder. Completing the ensemble was a Santa hat that perched jauntily atop his head.
Elena fought back a giggle as she took him in. “…Oh my god,” she managed finally.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “What do you think?”
She cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “How much bourbon was in that eggnog?”
He dropped his sack of toys and pranced over to Elena, resting a finger on her lips and subtly pressing a button on a small remote in the pocket of his robe. A woman’s sultry voice floated out from well-concealed wall speakers: “Santa baby, slip a Sable under the tree, for me…” Damon’s hips measured out the rhythm of the words that he mouthed along with the singer, and he playfully stroked the belt of his robe to hint that it could easily come off.
“I’m confused,” Elena said, half-concealing her amusement and crossing her arms in mock nonchalance. “Are you supposed to be Santa? Are you singing to yourself?”
“Just go with it, okay, Elena? Not many men would do this for their girlfriends.”
She looked him up and down with a grin.
“You’re probably right about that.”
He resumed his expert lip syncing, prancing around with theatrical flair. At a particularly dramatic swell in the music, he flung open his robe, revealing red boxer briefs that were at least a size too small. Elena couldn’t stop herself—she broke into a fit of giggles, which weren’t exactly dampened when he stripped his robe off entirely and threw it at her with a flourish. No longer content to be a passive audience, she hopped off the couch and slung the robe around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
“You,” she laughed into his mouth, “are an idiot.”
“An idiot you happen to be madly in love with,” he countered.
Instead of answering, she let the robe slip from her grasp and snaked a hand around his side, sliding it into the back of his briefs to grab a handful of firm Santa ass. His already-tight briefs instantly got a little tighter, and even more so when she said with a grin:
“Come on, Santa. Let’s see if we can get these cheeks a little rosier.”