Archive of Our Own

His eyes were beginning to burn from the strain, his muscles felt leaden and every movement sluggish, but he kept typing. There were deadlines to meet, stock deliveries to oversee, administrative duties to perform. Between all of that, he could barely find a spare minute to follow his body's dictatorial orders to sleep.

He would allow his body all the rest it craved as soon as all this was over, but until then it would have to make do with infrequent catnaps.

In his sleep-deprived state, he was of the impression that his ears had evolved into parabolic antennas, amplifying the ticking of keys to a booming loudness inside his skull. He was glad for the thickness of his office walls that filtered out most noises and allowed him to work relatively undisturbed.

The key word being relative.

"Good news. The last truckload of presents has just arrived." No sooner had Kenya opened the door to Shiraishi's office than he repeated the words he had bellowed across the hallway only minutes before.

And no sooner had Shiraishi slowed down the abuse of his keyboard. He could not allow himself to be seen typing at a frantic pace. Kenya would tuck him into bed faster than he could protest, to hell with ranks and authority.

The wave of cold that followed on his coat-tails made Shiraishi consider telling someone to reheat the hallway, before he realised the chill came from Kenya himself. It should have been obvious from the first look at the snow melting on his clothes or his face that looked frozen stiff, but when you were engrossed in taking care of paperwork your boss was incapable of doing, you didn't notice the obvious right away.

Shiraishi did not comment on Kenya's lack of formality. That he mentally insisted on it, showed just how much of a bad habit custom really was, but right now time was pressing and too valuable to be wasted on unimportant matters. "Right on time," he said instead, glad to be spared the hassle of lengthy greetings and able to get right down to business. "Are there any more letters for me in that bag?"

He pointed to the big gunny sack that leaned against the wall like a passed-out drunk.

"The whole bag is for you. I had the other ones delivered to Koharu for translation already." Despite his frozen appearance, Kenya swung himself down on the chair across from Shiraishi's desk with one liquid motion, then took out his EDA and tapped the touch screen a couple of times. "Before I forget why I came here. I still need your signature."

He shoved the device over the table for Shiraishi to sign. In their business Kenya was, as part of the Supplier's Network, responsible for delivering components to the workshop as well as collecting letters addressed to "Santa Claus" – or any variation thereof – from all over the globe and carting them to the North Pole. Now that they had all arrived (except for the obligatory latecomers, which their boss would just have to deal with himself), his job was done for the year. Shiraishi confirmed that with his signature.

As soon as his hand had drawn the last stroke, his eyes flickered back to his screen. It was an all too well-practiced motion, scanning every pixel for any updates of the database. Almost as expected, two new notifications from the events management had been added; they usually popped up when he was, for once, not looking. These examples spelled out the information on the current state of affair he had already filtered out from the conversation with Kenya. At the very least he could rest assured that the mailing system still worked as efficiently as before.

Now, he had a bag containing the wishes and hopes of children, not to mention valuable information on end user demand, beckoning him. The letters would not read themselves. Leaving Kenya to rest himself, Shiraishi pressed the save button on his computer and walked over to the bulging sack that was filled to the brim with all kinds of letters and cards. Some heavily decorated with gold glitter or not at all, in green-and-red or red-and-white paper, some written on pink sheets with bunnies or yellow sheets with present boxes, in neat script or hasty scrawls that had been stricken through or written over to the point of illegibility.

In the face of this seemingly Sisyphean task, Shiraishi once again considered encouraging the Department of Technical Development to design a tool capable of checking letters and sending detailed instructions to the workshop according to their contents. Opening the envelopes and sending a digital copy to his computer would be a welcome alternative, as was anything that cut down the handling time. All their previous inventions had had the habit of malfunctioning, either shredding the papers or jamming the machines. Some rare cases had also tended to blow up, but their authorisation had been rejected without a second thought.

Luckily none of the original letters were used during experimentations. Shiraishi enjoyed reading them, feeling the heart of a child pour out of each sentence, enjoyed the children's excitement and their innocent belief in Santa enough to overlook the lines bolded with greed. Apart from being a cardinal sin, greed was alright so long as you had the records to make up for it. If not – well, let it be said once again that only the good boys and girls got what they wished for.

"Ah, Kenya. I knew I'd find you hee–aah!"

Before Shiraishi's brain had the leisure to register that voice, it was distracted by a clatter, a spray of hot liquid and, to top it all off, the weight of a body colliding with his own, knocking out his breath like a bellows. The whirl of sensations left him disoriented for a second and his vision practised somersaults in the short moment of silence that ensued. Kenya then burst out laughing, so sudden it sounded almost hysteric, before he moved forward to help up the form that had begun sorting the array of its limbs.

"Sorry, boss. I didn't see you kneeling on the floor," Yuuji groaned, straightening the wreath of hollies encircling his head. His face scrunched up as he looked around. "What a mess."

Shiraishi got up from the hot chocolate-sprinkled floor, his clothes and even his hair dripping. He could feel his temples beginning to throb. "It's a relief that the letters escaped unscathed, at least." Except for two wet brown flecks on a simple envelope marked with Akaya, Japan.

Shiraishi had been going over the contents, before it had sailed from his hand. The boy wanted a Wii. Shiraishi remembered that it was presents like this that had prompted the old Father Christmas to retire. The times when children could be satisfied with wooden toys were over and would never return, he had said. All that fancy new knick-knack went over his head and no amount of explanation made it any easier for him to understand it.

For the children's sake, he had tried to familiarise himself with technology (a good child should not have to do without its well-deserved present just because of a computer-illiterate gift-bringer). For the first time in centuries, he was faced with change he could not adapt to. So, for the children's sake, he had decided to hand over his office to the younger generation, one that could operate and maintain the automated machinery and still find its way around a world slowly taken over by artificial intelligence.

Although he had become quite fatalistic in his old age, Shiraishi liked Father Christmas, as everyone had respectfully called him. A jolly family man, who had lived for his job, he had been incapable of dealing with the growing distance to his workers that the optimised management and distribution system brought. His grandson seemed more at ease among the constant change, although Shiraishi doubted he possessed any more technical expertise than his predecessor.

"Earth to Kura. Do you read me?" Kenya's voice prodded his eardrums. "Now's not the right time to be spacing out."

"He's right. You should really go and take a shower," Yuuji added. "I'll clean this up in the meantime."

"I don't have time for th–"

Yuuji cut off Shiraishi's unreasonable protest in a voice that brooked no nonsense. "How do you suppose to work when you're spattering hot chocolate everywhere? I could lick it off for you, but that's not gonna do anything about your dirty clothes."

"Listen to the cleaning lady. You don't want to give her more work."

For that remark, Kenya should have sensed Yuuji's kick coming. "Bastard! You can talk if all you do is walk in and out with slush beneath your boots."

"Ow, hey! I'll dip you in that puddle if you do that again."

"I wanna see you try."

"Kenya?" Shiraishi interrupted the two before their quarrel would get out of hand.

"Uh?" Kenya shifted his attention from Yuuji, whose cheeks he was trying to tug apart.

Shiraishi exhaled. He would have to go through with this if he wanted to save time. "Can I leave the letters to you? If I go now, I won't be able to read them all in time." There should be no problem in understanding. Kenya spoke the same languages he did, including Old Norse, which their great-grandparents had taught them to stay in touch with "their roots," although no one had used that language in nearly seven hundred years.

Kenya exchanged a look with Yuuji. "Um, sure. But what do I do once I read them?" Kenya asked, confusion outweighing hesitation. They both knew how much Shiraishi disliked having others do his work.

Shiraishi wasted no time on lengthy explanations. Instead, he kept his instructions simple enough for Kenya to deal with quickly: "You send the details such as name, address and wishes to the workshop. They'll know what to do."

"Don't worry. I know how it works," Yuuji stretched his hand above his head, like a hyper child craving attention, grinning. "Koharu does it all the time."

Shiraishi nodded. "I'll leave it to you then."

"Smell you later," Kenya flashed him a broad grin, before the door closed.

Outside of his office, the corridors were buzzing with activity. Elves were running back and forth with old toys under each arm, their footfalls padded by runners that stretched across the white floor tiles. Shiraishi felt uncomfortable, his clothes were clinging to him and he was adding brown stains to the swirls of carmine, forest green and gold of the carpet. Worrying about small things like droplets or appearance was utterly pointless, but he did not want to reconsider the wisdom of leaving his work in another's hands. Or how much could go wrong.

Hurrying past the faces alight with wonder and curiosity, he offered smiles and curt nods, absently wondering how perceiving their superior in a state such as this would affect their morale.

The bathroom was occupied, he noticed too late. The humming from inside cut off the same time as Shiraishi stopped in the doorway. In front of the mirror, shaving lather icing his jaw like a cream beard, stood his boss in nothing more than low-riding training pants and a towel slung across a bare shoulder. None of the elves dared call him by the respectful title of Father Christmas his grandfather had carried with pride, instead they referred to him as Osanta, a name that conveyed a good deal of courtesy on their part. Too much, Shiraishi thought sometimes.

"Why are you shaving now?" Shiraishi blurted, before he could stop himself. A tiny spark of irritation flared up, partly for witnessing such a waste of time when his subordinates fell over themselves in collective near-panic to prepare for a smooth Christmas; and partly at himself for standing rooted to the spot in the empty hallway, eyes slipping from Osanta's unsurprised face down his neckline to the dusting of light brown hair on his chest, while trying to refresh his memory for what reason he had come here again.

He rubbed his tired eyes.

In all honesty, he would not have expected Osanta to hide away a well-trained body under his Hawaii shirts. Shiraishi couldn't remember ever having seen him exercise, unless balancing himself on his office chair while napping counted.

Osanta waved his razor in Shiraishi's general direction. "Why do you look like you were mud wrestling?" His dry tone revealed he did not care about an answer, but his eyes spoke a somewhat different language. They regarded him with mild interest from behind a fringe of russet brown hair, as though Shiraishi were a strange animal or a wrapped present without a nametag.

"I–" His original plan had been to wash his hair in the sink and slip on some fresh clothes, but in light of the current circumstances, he found the original plan replaced with two options: one – go ahead and shower; or two – retreat and use the bathroom on the other side of the main building. "–need a shower." In the end, saving time prevailed over modesty.

Osanta just shrugged and turned around again, ignoring Shiraishi's existence altogether.

Prying his eyes off of the curve of the other man's spine, Shiraishi wondered how in the world he managed to look so relaxed. He would have to board the sleigh and deliver the children's presents in less than two hours.

Stripping off his sticky clothes, Shiraishi concentrated on his mental checklist of Things Yet to be Done to ignore the vague feeling that everything would simply break down if he was not nearby to attend to his duties of monitoring the business. Although the awareness of the other's presence kept disrupting his thought process. He thought he could sense Osanta's gaze on him as he stepped out of the fabric pooling at his feet.

The warm spray of water washed away the smell of chocolate, but not the residues of that feeling. Instead, the droplets heightened it, provoking a semblance of fingers trailing down his shoulders, his spine, his chest. His sore muscles melted like ice on a stove. In a flight of fancy – or paranoia rather – he imagined Osanta to step under the shower with him, wrapping his arms around him, warm like a blanket... And promptly coughed up water at the strangeness of the idea.

He shook his head and chalked it up as the economical part of his brain going into overdrive. There was no other explanation. (A blanket would be welcome, though.)

Turning the water cold, he scrubbed at his face, at the memory of the image, trying to get rid of it.

Through the steamed up glass, he could see Osanta leaving, and the image left with him.

All their preparation throughout the year came down to this day, this moment. It was akin to the production of a musical, when every step had to be choreographed, every tune memorised and carried out with perfection, but without auditions or rehearsals prior to opening night.

"Loading has been completed," Gin informed his team-mates.

Shiraishi checked his watch. T minus nineteen minutes and counting. It was time for the star to appear.

"Where is he?" There was no need to spell out any names.

"Have you tried his office?" Hikaru suggested with a shrug, pointing his lollipop at one of the big monitors that displayed parts of the facility.

Shiraishi regarded him for a second, tapping his pen against lips. "Not yet."

Every employee wore an RFID tag somewhere on their working clothes, to facilitate the process of tracking them down in an area as large as this, where it was entirely possible to work together in one and the same department and never run into each other in a decade.

In Osanta's case, however, the tags were stitched into his coat, the one he wore about once a year. Which meant no one could ever pinpoint his exact location, only make vague guesses.

If Shiraishi had it his way, Osanta would be in his chambers getting dressed. Then again, Shiraishi's way and Osanta were not compatible. That man usually eluded his expectations.

In the deserted anteroom, Shiraishi spotted the traditional red-and-white Santa costume draped over a chair, collecting dust. Clicking his tongue, he snatched it and stalked over to the study, bristling like cat. The sign on the door read 'Busy.'

When he entered, not bothering to knock, he found Osanta to be Very Busy, indeed. With his sandals on the table and a cigarette in his mouth.

At least he was decently clothed this time. Or what passed for decency with this man.

Shiraishi made his way through a cloud of blue smoke to fling the costume down on the cluttered table, next to Osanta's feet. Their eyes met, but neither said a word. Annoyed by the haze, he proceeded to open a window. One could get a headache in this stink. In fact, he felt one coming. The icy cold from outside was better by only a margin.

Turning to shoot his boss an accusatory look, he said, "Well? Don't you want to get ready?"

Osanta cocked his head to the side, more smoke curling from his lips. "Do you have a pillow?"

Shiraishi threw up his hands. "What do you want with a pillow? It's time to work, not sleep!" He couldn't follow this man, drunk or sober.

A weak laugh bubbled from Osanta's throat. "Do I look like your typical obese Santa to you? I've got an image to keep in the heads of children, after all."

As much as Shiraishi wanted to be contrary, he could see that Osanta had a point there. His appearance was not very convincing, although children would know he was the real deal as soon as they saw him. Still, there were matters to set him straight about. "Those things don't pop up by themselves, you know? Don't always expect others to do everything for you."

"Does that mean you won't help me put this thing on?" Osanta smiled weakly, his fingers twiddling with the fabric of the costume.

Shiraishi compressed his lips, obstructing verbal abuse in its path. Before the acidic words found a way to spill from his ears, they evaporated like the last shreds of his sanity because his inner mind's theatre had decided to show a rerun of the scene from the bathroom, mute and monochromatic, but crystal clear. This time, he saw himself helping Osanta out of his clothes, kneeling in front of him to buckle up his belt, feeling Osanta's fingers thread through his hair... He groaned. "I'll get you a pillow instead."

Closing the door to the anteroom behind him with a soft click, he sucked in a deep breath. This was going over his head. He liked to keep his thoughts in neat lines, focusing only on the tasks at hand. Everything else was irrelevant. But now they began spiralling out of control, despite all his efforts to rein them in. He blamed the current circumstances and his need for a good night's sleep.

At the edge of his peripheral vision he caught sight of Senri, who was engrossed in something he carried in his hand, likely his cell phone. When he looked up, he grinned and called, "Ah, there you are."

His long legs carried him toward Shiraishi at a quick pace, then slowed as he fell into step next to him. There was frost glittering in his frizzy hair, like a tribute to the clear night sky over Elf Town.

"The routing details have been successfully transferred. We're good to go." Shiraishi was half-surprised the manager of Integrated Sales and Operations Planning wasn't throwing confetti in celebration, given his fondness for sparkly things. Maybe he saved that for later.

Shiraishi took in the news, nodding. "Well done. I'll tell Osanta."

"Then where are you running? His study is that way." Forming pistols with his fingers, Senri turned a little to shoot invisible bullets the way they were coming from; the way Osanta's office lay.

Well, why was he? Shiraishi could tell him he was trying to flee from his own mind. Or he could say he suspected that their boss planned on continuing his nap on his trip and went to make sure he was comfortable, but thought better of it. This was nothing Senri needed to know for his job. Instead, he said they would be right there, earning him a grin and a pat on the back in return.

Back in the study, he found Osanta stomping his foot into a black leather boot, coat hanging loosely around his shoulders. His floral-patterned clothes had been discarded on top of his desk, parts of the fabric trailing in the contents of an overflowing ashtray.

"Preparations are done. Now it's your turn," he said, throwing Osanta the pillow he had fetched from one of their many inventory closets. He looked around in time to see it coming, but it still bounced off his face and fell to the floor. Shiraishi suspected he did that on purpose, though he could not see why.

He checked his watch again and tried hard not to tap his foot in impatience. Chasing after people to get things done really peeved him.

"To run?" Osanta asked, a hint sheepish, lopsided grin on his face. If this was supposed to be a joke, Shiraishi failed to see the humour.

"Wrong." His supply of patience was running out and Shiraishi waited just long enough for Osanta to tie the sash of his coat, before grabbing his collar and fixing him with the most menacing glare he could muster. Working morale such as this was unacceptable, especially from the person who was supposed to be his superior. "To make yourself useful."

"Boy," Osanta began, then swallowed. While it was true that his status was highest among the corporation, Shiraishi was the one who did all the work for him. Who knew what else the younger man could get away with, if he could afford to speak his mind without consequence.

Osanta's eyes darted this way and that, like following the zigzag trail of a fly that buzzed beneath a suspended lamp, evading Shiraishi's sharp stare as though it were blinding. Before Osanta had the opportunity to try and pry off his hands, Shiraishi dragged him off to the ramp.

That didn't stop his protests from coming, though. "You know, I just remembered I won't be able to read any maps or labels without my glasses. Let me go get them."

"Don't try it. You don't even wear glasses," Shiraishi said, ignoring the struggling from his boss and the few elves that gawked at them. Shiraishi never manhandled anyone, they knew, and his level of tolerance had to be poked and prodded far into the danger zone for him to lash out.

"What makes you so sure?"

"You never did."

"How would you know?"

"It's one of those things you can't help noticing."

"Damn it, why must you be so observant of everything?"

Shiraishi stopped and gave Osanta a sidelong look, eyes flashing. "Because you're not." He left his thought unfinished. Even though it's your job hung in the air, unspoken.

The crowd of elves bustling about the sleigh erupted in cries of excitement as soon as Osanta came into view. Some of them rushed up to him to wish him good luck, others walked at a more sedate pace; some, such as Senri and Hikaru, patted his shoulder, while others merely nodded to him, the way Gin did. Kenya offered him a grin and a thumbs-up, while Koharu would only be satisfied after enveloping him in a crushing hug.

Osanta's smile never wavered, as he shook hands and nodded thanks, though his nervous eyes kept flickering to the aircraft that was commonly referred to as ‘the sleigh.'

In light of the industrial expansion in recent decades and the resulting discharge of reindeers, development was primarily focused on aerodynamic performance. This change was further instituted by the general unwillingness of most elves to take care of the reindeers throughout the year. The majority of them were of the opinion that keeping them and, moreover, using them for sleigh-carting, was not species-appropriate in any case. The chances of animal rights activists barricading their doors one day were highly improbable though; rather, the prospect of cutting costs was the real reason for sending the reindeers to a farm the old Father Christmas was now running in Finland.

One negative aspect of the revised sleigh was the atmospheric pollution that came with combustion-engined vehicles, but unlike reindeer droppings, it was something their engineers could actually find a solution for.

"Um," Osanta gulped as he finally took his seat. "Did I mention I'm afraid of heights?" A light sheen of sweat gleamed on Osanta's forehead, despite the crisp air around them.

"It's going to be alright. Don't look down unless the sleigh has stopped, okay?" Yuuji smiled and tugged Osanta's hat over his eyes, then proceeded to give him a ‘kissy left, kissy right' in parting.

"You know that's not helping."

"Listen," Shiraishi's voice was venom; he was positively seething. He had been watching from the sidelines for long enough. As soon as Yuuji had stepped aside, he jabbed his index finger at Osanta, who shied back. His knuckles had turned white from gripping the edge of his seat. "There are children out there who believe in you, who believe that you will come. I don't care about your excuses or that you don't want to do this. You had enough time to get used to the idea, so get a grip."

Yuuji yanked his arm away and met his stare with a level one of his own. "Shiraishi, you've said enough."

For someone who did not think twice about using people's first names, hearing him revert back to his family name had quite some impact, although the words he spoke were soft.

Attempting to disperse the building tension, Koharu cheerfully announced, "It's tiiiime. Everyone please step back." With a flourish, he threw a fake beard into Osanta's lap and, blowing him a kiss, wiggled his fingers at him. "Don't forget this. And bon voyaaage!"

Shiraishi turned his back and walked away, not watching as the sleigh took off.

The curtain has risen to announce the beginning of a long night.

Back at his desk again, Shiraishi tried to glare a hole through the red dot on his screen that displayed Osanta's current location and progress. So far, everything was running smoothly, but he dared not think how long that would last. Osanta had a history of screwing things up, so Shiraishi wondered once again why no one dared question his authority and fitness for the office. True, it was in his blood, but there had to be more capable members of his family.

If Shiraishi had the blood, he would do the job himself. Then at least, he would have the peace of mind knowing everything was done the right way.

He was being unfair, he knew. Osanta was not to blame for Shiraishi's lack of sleep or the resulting delirium. It was his own fault for working to the point of exhaustion and beyond; there had been no reason whatsoever to let his anger and frustration out on the man. Now, he had come full circle, being irritated at himself again for allowing this lack of self-discipline.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the crack between door and jamb widening to allow someone to enter, but he did not look up.

"I ought to slap you," Yuuji said as he put his tray down with a rattle.

Shiraishi lifted his gaze to regard the other sideways, waiting for him to continue.

"I thought we were a team, but the way you act seems to say you'd rather be doing everything on your own instead of relying on us if you could." He slid a mug of hot chocolate over the table. "Look, I'm not here to blame you. I just... I want you to put some more trust in us. This company is not going to fall on our heads if you do that."

Shiraishi fingered the brim of his mug, avoiding Yuuji's gaze. "I trust you."

"And still you prefer to monitor every step that is being made."

"Someone has to." If nothing was documented or checked how would they know about their state of affairs? It was important to keep things running.

After a sigh, Yuuji was quiet for a while. He seemed to be looking through the walls. "Have you ever been afraid of something?" he asked finally. "I know I have this irrational fear of losing any one of my team-mates, especially Koharu. It's still a terrible thought, losing someone or being all alone, and I try not to think of it, but–"

"It's pointless to worry about something before it happens." As soon as the words left his mouth he realised they were meant as a reminder to himself.

Yuuji's fist slammed down on the table, spilling some hot chocolate. "You know, I really hate this about you. You make light of my feelings as if they were nothing. Don't tell me you never worry about screw-ups that never happen. Then again, it's business, right? That's all you care about." Yuuji exhaled through his teeth, a hissing snake.

"I care about the children," Shiraishi said in defence. He didn't like listening to accusations (even if they were justified), should put a stop to this, but knew Yuuji would only complain harder, throwing things at his head he might come to regret.

"We all do. You see, I can relate. With Osanta, that is. None of us want to screw up, least of all he. In the end it's not your responsibility, it's his. He would have to face all the children should he ever disappoint them, not you. They would stop believing, stop writing their letters, stop making wishes and that would be the end of us. To keep everything up and running, the most important thing is belief, not business strategies. But you're the only one who does not believe in him. Oh, you know he exists, but you do not believe."

Shiraishi stiffened. There was a grim sort of triumph in the other's eyes, the satisfaction of being right battling with the wish of being proven wrong. At least he had figured out how to nudge Shiraishi down the path of realisation.

"I don't even know why I have to explain this to you," Yuuji continued, rubbing at his temple. "It should be obvious."

He was right, there should be no doubt about it. Shiraishi sat there, thoughts running wild, while trying not to look shaken. It was appalling to think that somewhere down the road he had lost sight of what was truly important.

Just then, as a welcome distraction, something caught his eye. Shiraishi tapped his screen.

"Something wrong?" Yuuji leaned over the desk to take a look.

"He made an unscheduled stop." That was his only explanation. His screen could not have frozen; the figures at the top were still rolling, only the sleigh had halted. Why was he stopping now? There were still over forty million houses to visit. "Wait, it's moving again. Where is he going?"

Osanta's route had been planned to assure the quickest performance. Course deviations would only mean loss of time and consequently, less of a chance to get the operation done by morning.

Calling up Hikaru confirmed that this was no system error, but that Osanta was indeed deviating from his original flight plan. Something must have happened, because the computer engineer could not reach Osanta through his communicator.

As soon as he had hung up, his phone rang again. On the other end of the line, Osanta's jittery voice could be heard.

"You got what?!" Shiraishi did not think he understood him correctly. Did not want to have understood him correctly. In his shock, he must have missed some vital part. Osanta was cut off, before he had the chance to ask further question. If what he said was true, their plan was in danger of total collapse.

Yuuji's brows have drawn together in consternation. "What happened?"

There was no time for explanations, no time to panic. "Call the others. Quick!"

Yuuji bit his lip for a second, but then sprang up. He was curious to know what was up, but he knew where his priorities lay.

Shiraishi met everyone in the conference room, which was the closest for all of the division heads to gather. They had to take action as soon as possible. If they didn't, all of their invested months, days, and minutes would be for naught. Moreover, children's dreams had to be preserved from shattering.

Sensing that there was no time to be seated, they crowded into the narrow space between the door and the tables, faces painted with various degrees of concern.

He came right to the point: "Osanta has been arrested."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he held up a hand to silence the collective cries of disbelief.

"What do you suppose we do?" Kenjirou threw in after a pause.

"We can track down the sleigh without any difficulties, but chances are that Osanta has been separated from it. As you know, the tag in his clothes only responds within a certain range, so we have to locate the sleigh first."

"I'll go ahead and start up the backup sleigh," Koharu's tinsel-decorated glasses glinted in determination.

"Please do. Also run the synchronized delivery system." With this, they could go about distribution from opposite ends of the world. It was a strain on the main computer, but it cut the operation time down in half.

"Of course."

"Kenya, Gin, can I count on you to accompany me and carry out one half of the presents?"

Kenya touched two fingers to his forehead, a salute. "Ready when you are." Gin just nodded.

The reason for choosing them was simple: Kenya knew his way around the world better than anyone and Gin had kept track of the packaging and loading of the sleigh, so he should know in which part of the freight room what present was.

Shiraishi kept his directions coming. "Senri, I need a weather report."

"Right there."

"Kenjirou, go fetch a portable tag reader."

"Alright."

"Hikaru, keep monitoring the systems."

"Gotcha."

"I'll meet you at the sleigh. There's still something that I need to get."

He skipped on the word 'dismissed' that had been beginning to form on his lips. This was not a formal meeting. And his team did not need every following step spelled out for them. Yes, they were his team; he could trust them. They would not let him down.

Amidst the flurry of activity, Shiraishi spotted Yuuji smiling.

Before boarding the sleigh, Shiraishi would have thought that three people and a tiny space they would have to cramp into were not compatible, like the deal with square pegs and round holes. Especially if one of them had shoulders as broad as Gin's. Shiraishi idly wondered how many more times he would be proven wrong today.

Apart from the discomfort of being stowed away like last year's boots, the flight was marked by little turbulence, thanks to Senri's weather forecast. By the speed they were going though, even thunderstorms would only have delayed them for a couple of minutes.

For the time being, as they addressed their course of action during the flight, Shiraishi was glad to be distracted from the torrent of his thoughts. He did not want to see the disappointed faces of little children as they got up in the morning to find nothing under their Christmas tree, no presents, no filled stockings, not even clumps of coal, a sign that Santa had at least been there.

He did not want to think about what he would say or how he should react when they found Osanta.

As soon as they landed somewhere close to the location of Osanta's sleigh, Shiraishi left Gin and Kenya to search for it, while he followed the directions on his PDA. Linked to his palm-sized computer was the mobile reader he got from Kenjirou that helped to detect his boss.

A thick layer of snow crunching under his boots, he stomped past rows upon rows of small houses, paying just enough attention to the festive surroundings to avoid running into someone.

His rapid steps led him to a police station, a building not much bigger than the rest of the houses in town, but a lot less decorated. Inside, Osanta was being held. Shiraishi's fingers were red from the cold, and yet his palms were sweating. He pocketed his PDA and shifted the little sack he carried from one hand to the other to wipe them on his pants. There was no time to hesitate.

The stationhouse was occupied by only two officers on duty, one making phone calls and another who received him. He put both to sleep before they could ask any more than how can we help you, sir?

At the end of the short corridor separating two rows of jail cells, a man lay snoring on the rough floor of the drunk tank. Shiraishi's eyebrows shot up. There was no way Osanta could have already had enough sherries to warrant passing out. He was a man who could hold his liquor.

Shiraishi did not want to deal with sobering him up. To his luck, he didn't have to. Osanta sat on a cot in the cell to his right, hunched over and staring at the ground between his feet. If it weren't for the nervous way he wrung his hands, he would have looked like he was asleep in his seat.

To steel his wibbling nerves, Shiraishi took a deep breath before speaking up. It was time to rectify matters between them. He tried for a light tone of voice. "Getting caught for speeding, you can't be serious."

Osanta's head jerked up, the look of desperation on his face evaporating like mist. It seemed to take him a moment to process what was happening. He got up slowly, his eyes peering at Shiraishi as though he believed him to be an apparition that would vanish any second. Shiraishi would, soon enough, but not without Osanta.

"I think it's worse they actually suspected me of smuggling."

"Suspicious redcoat that climbs down chimneys and runs from the police? You're lucky they didn't add burglary to the list of offences," Shiraishi said with a smile, as he opened his little bag.

Osanta's fingers curled around the iron bars. "You aren't mad?" he finally asked, almost incredulous. Granted, Shiraishi was somewhat surprised at himself. Thinking back just two hours ago, he would have breathed fire and brimstone at him for screwing this up in such a shameful manner. But not anymore.

No, not anymore.

He remembered Yuuji's words: As a team, they were supposed to work together. That's what they would do from now on.

Raising his bag, he poured out some sparkling sand over the iron lock of the cell door. "Step back," he said.

With a snap of his fingers, the lock exploded.

Osanta jumped, yelping. "What the hell was that?"

The man in the drunk tank groaned.

"A special brand of Sandman's sleeping powder." Shiraishi strewed a pinch of sand over the still unconscious form, just to err on the side of caution.

Behind him, Osanta poked his head out of the cell to see what he was doing, but hesitated before pushing the creaking door open. "Wh-why does it explode? And isn't that dangerous for his eyes?"

"No need to worry. Blowing up only works in great quantities. Even if I snapped my fingers now, all it could do would be to dry out his eyes. But enough of the explanations. Let's hurry. I'm sure Kenya and Gin are waiting."

Despite Shiraishi's invitation to make haste, Osanta stopped in the office. "What happened here?" He meant the officers who were drooling over their scattered documents.

"They're sleeping," Shiraishi waved his powder sack at him, before tucking it away. "When they wake, they'll think it was all a dream."

Osanta cocked an eyebrow. "And what about the lock you blew up?"

"Um," he coughed in embarrassment. "I'll send someone to exchange it before morning."

His steps were carrying toward the door, as Osanta's voice stopped him yet again. "Wait, I need to find the things they confiscated."

Shiraishi bit back on a groan of frustration. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they weren't going to make it if they kept on like this.

The items they sought were in the top drawer of the first desk: a silver-mounted pipe and a small tin box etched with the image of eight reindeers pulling a sleigh, gifts from his grandfather. That was all. Apparently, Osanta had lost his hat and beard he got from Yuuji and Koharu, and even the pillow. They were surely going to be mad, he said. But Shiraishi did not think so.

Outside in the biting cold, Shiraishi took out his mobile reader again, this time to track Kenya and Gin. By now, the sky was pitch black above the many colourful lights stretching from street lamp to street lamp or blinking in the windows of houses.

Shiraishi jerked and faltered in his step as a warm hand grasped his own and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you," Osanta smiled at him.

A grateful smile, one that infected his nerves with the calm it radiated, like the first rays of sunlight after a snow storm. Shiraishi blinked, then dipped his head (in acknowledgement, approval or embarrassment, he didn't know), gaze flitting back to the device in his other hand. Speeding up, he tugged Osanta along, their fingers still intertwined.

By the time they located Gin and Kenya, the two had transferred half the remaining presents to the second sleigh and were waiting, ready to go. Although the sleighs appeared to be quite small, the inside of the freight rooms was enormous, thanks to the concept of spatial distortion. The biggest warehouse in the world would dwarf in comparison. Because of its size, a system was installed that synchronised with the route planner and gave out presents according to location. This way, they would not have to deal with sorting each individual package out, which would be impossible to manage given the sheer amount of them.

Kenya jumped from his seat and ran up to them. "We're heading west from here. The route plans have been updated accordingly." Grinning, he gave both of them a reassuring pat on the back. "See you in the morning. And don't get caught this time."

Shiraishi could not help but heave a sigh of relief, breath misting in front of him. Christmas could be saved, after all.

Despite having to cramp one person less into the sleigh this time, to Shiraishi it felt even more confining than before. There was no space to put between them, their bodies pressed against each other, and he was all too aware of every motion, every shift, every friction.

It came as a shock when, at their first stop, Osanta suddenly straddled his thighs. "Sorry," he said, leaning over to access the freight room, every move of his hips unbearable. Eyes wide, Shiraishi found his nose pressed against the man's undershirt, the scent of musk and tobacco overwhelming. He could feel his heart beat against his skin, calmer than his own.

Shiraishi was glad to spend more time sliding down chimneys and placing gifts beneath the welcoming twigs of tinsel-hung Christmas trees than inside the sleigh. He considered vanishing inside the freight room for the rest of the trip now that it was half empty, but it was an automated system not meant to carry passengers. The manufacturers had said it could be dangerous; they had lost one of their numbers during the experimental phase for a couple of days and when they found him again, he was on the verge of madness.

Definitely not a price he would pay just to escape the awkwardness that came from being with Osanta. It was strange, really, how one person could knot up all of his attention and distract him from what was important with his mere presence, when being squeezed between two bodies had done none of that sort.

The worst part, he thought, was that he was beginning to like it. The closeness, the warmth, the sense of comfort that slowly dissipated not only his worry, but his guard, too. In his drowsiness, he couldn't suppress the unsettling images that invaded his mind – of him straddling Osanta's hips, running his hands over his chest, of Osanta nibbling at his earlobe, fingers slipping beneath his waistband...

Just then, Osanta leaned over him again, knees on either side, and Shiraishi stiffened. It was all he could do to keep his arms by his side, lest he slung them around Osanta's waist. Pressure was building at the base of his spine and he wanted to shift his hips against Osanta's, wanted him to grind down for just a little more friction, wanted–

Osanta was looking down at him, eyes dark and smouldering, glossy lips parted, inviting. His own blush was mirrored on his cheeks. Osanta swallowed. For a second, Shiraishi thought he would kiss him. In a moment of selfishness, that was everything he wanted, waiting children all but forgotten.

Whenever they parted, the chill of their surroundings felt especially biting where they had touched before. This time, Shiraishi was cold all over.

Maybe madness would not have been a bad alternative.

Working together, Shiraishi was fond to notice that Osanta was a more industrious man than he would have given him credit for. Had he given him a chance to prove himself sooner in lieu of taking care of his workload without being asked, he might have come to understand that his usual air of unconcern did not imply incompetence, but rather hidden distress.

Osanta had not grown up in Elf Town, he had been thrust into it one day, suddenly in charge of everything. Left to his own devices, he had never been told what to do except for to act as the new Santa. The town and the business pretty much ran themselves and although it was expected of the present Santa to take part during company-internal strategy meetings or with representatives of the supplier firms, the division heads took most matters out of his hand.

There were some elves, like Yuuji, who took their time to introduce him to the whole structure and his theoretical duties, so he need not blunder along. He still didn't understand it, but at least he was a real Santa when it came to making children happy.

"You know," Osanta slurred. "In the beginning, it was all quite scary, following in my grandfather's shoes. I thought that, since I had never been instructed in running the business, it would turn out to be a joke after all. But you were all so serious..."

Shiraishi really did not know what brought on this drunk talk. When he had returned from his round, Osanta had been sitting on top of a roof, taking a break because he needed his 'goddamned smoke' and stuffing his pipe with tobacco from his little tin box. He preferred normal filter cigarettes, he had said, but the pipe matched the traditional image of Santa Claus better. From there on, he had started a dissection of Santa's symbol status and why he had to rely on appearance so much.

Sitting next to him, Shiraishi had listened, watching his lips move, watching the smoke curl from his mouth and watching it disappear. Gazing at Osanta like this, he felt drawn to him, sucked in like a drop of water, memories from before resurfacing. He fought them down. He had to concentrate on his job, even if it was difficult to keep his wits together.

"How's your fear of heights?" he asked, changing the topic.

Osanta looked at him, lips curled around the stem of his pipe, but Shiraishi could not see his expression behind his bangs, only the outline of his face in the soft light from the sleigh. "'s... okay, I guess. The longer I'm up here, the more I get used to it. Since it's dark I don't freeze up as much as I used to. I think even if I fall, I won't see the ground until I hit it. 'm too drunk to care anyway. But don't worry, these boots have great footing." Here he stopped his babbling to lift his foot from the roof. "I have an almost magical sense of balance in them."

Shiraishi chuckled, getting up. It really was a miracle sometimes what their inventors came up with. "Then let's make use of that magical balance before you decide to keel over from the many sherries after all. Come on, we're almost done."

He held out a hand to help Osanta stand. Osanta peered at it for a moment, then grasped it, hands just as cold as his own.

Slate grey was beginning to pool over the edges of the horizon, heralding a new dawn.

The sky had raised its curtain for the sun to fill the stage by the time they passed over the candy cane-flanked gates of Elf Town. Mission complete, was all Shiraishi could think. Now that they had finished, an avalanche of exhaustion rolled over him with a force that made him feel like melted iron, heavy and pliable, head lolling against the padding of the head rest. Dimly, he wondered how the old Father Christmas had managed to distribute the billions of presents in just one night, when all his own energy reserves had been sapped with less than a fifth of that.

Still, in the face of such a vast accomplishment, infinite relief and a sense of giddy excitement bloomed beneath the thick coating of fatigue.

It threatened to burst at the sheer volume of the cheers that greeted them when they landed. Shiraishi was a little surprised to spot Hikaru asleep with his headphones on in front of one of the large monitors, not letting the noise around him startle him out of his well-deserved rest.

Everyone else who was still awake, seemed overjoyed. Laughing, Yuuji and Koharu fell into each other's arms under a rain of glitter Senri sprinkled around, grin splitting his face in two.

The elves crowded around Shiraishi and Osanta, showering them with congratulations, until Shiraishi felt jostled around like a sack of coals. At the moment, he didn't mind it, though; he shared their elation, giving out handshakes and companionable pats and thanking everyone for their hard work. It was ecstatic, weariness aside.

Over the heads of his colleagues, he caught Osanta beaming at him and in the brief instant their eyes met, everything around them seemed to slow down, babble muted to a dull buzzing. In that brief instant, Shiraishi wanted to reach out and touch, to wade through the stream of blurred faces and crush their lips together, spectators be damned.

But he contented himself with smiling back.

After the initial excitement had faded somewhat, Shiraishi excused himself to finally be able to get some rest. His muscles were barely able to support him any longer. The prospect of a warm bed and a good night's sleep was all that kept him moving.

Walking, or rather, shuffling down the corridor, he heard footsteps approaching him from behind, before an arm was slung around his shoulder.

"Now, Kuranosuke-kun, tell me. Have you been naughty or nice?" Whispering words his grandfather's grandfather must have already asked small children, Osanta made Shiraishi's spine melt. If he used that voice on them too, Shiraishi would probably have to sue him.

He managed a weak laugh, despite the lips moving against the shell of his ear. Too close. "Depends on how you perceive all work and no play."

Withdrawing his head, Osanta peered at him as if deciding which to choose. Then he spoke up in a most neutral manner. "You know, I've got something for you. Would you like to pick it up or should I bring to your room?"

Weighing his options, Shiraishi thought it would be faster to pick it up and then go to sleep instead of inviting Osanta to his room and having to shoo him out again to get some rest. So they went.

The rich furnishings inside of Osanta's bedroom were at odds with the occupant. Heavy crimson draperies embroidered with gold filtered out the grey morning sky and a mahogany writing table stood its ground next to shelves filled with old books on various topics – children's tales and even tennis, but the dust collecting them made reading the labels difficult

While Shiraishi took in the flair of the room, Osanta had proceeded to kick of his boots, now scratching his left ankle with the toes of his right foot.

When Shiraishi's eyes fell on him, he said, "Close you eyes."

Only after a questioning stare and an encouraging gesture from Osanta did Shiraishi comply.

"Now, hold out your hands."

This time, he was quicker to follow the orders, not wanting to prolong the period he spent in the dark. Suddenly, there was pressure at his wrists, drawing them together. Shiraishi's eyes snapped open.

"What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the restraints in mild shock. Osanta had tied his wrists with his coat sash.

"Did I say you could open your eyes?" Osanta chided gently, reaching out to stroke his thumb across Shiraishi's cheek.

He jerked at the touch. "Are you planning on punishing me for being naughty after all?"

"Depends on how you perceive this," he mimicked Shiraishi's words from earlier.

Before he had time to come up with a retort, to understand what was happening, Osanta leaned in to press their lips together.

Eyes bulging like a blowfish, Shiraishi thought his heart must have skipped a beat or two and was now hammering all the faster to make up for it, driving heat up his neck. Osanta kissing him was everything he had daydreamed about, but to actually have it happen made the whole experience so unreal, as if he was still wallowing in his own delusions.

Shiraishi wrenched his head away. "What are you–"

"It's your wish, isn't it?" Osanta interrupted him, dark eyes penetrating. Strong hands rubbed over Shiraishi's shoulders, thumbs trailing along his collarbones. "To be able to give up some of your prized control without having to worry about anything."

"How do you know?" Screw embarrassment, Shiraishi was plain mortified.

Osanta smiled, a touch wicked. "I'm Santa, remember? I know people's wishes."

"Does that mean– in the sleigh, you–" Face burning like a furnace, Shiraishi bit his tongue before it could stumble over any more words. If the other actually knew what he'd been thinking, Shiraishi was positively going to die.

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough tore itself from Osanta's throat. "Um, yeah. That's when I first noticed. Needless to say I was... surprised. I thought you couldn't stand me, but you just wanted to keep your distance."

Like he wanted now. He hadn't known he was in for an exposition of his own character when he came here, neither did he expect Osanta to tie his wrists and kiss him. This was too awkward, too irrational, too impossible. Shiraishi felt the urge to scream clog up his throat, the urge to run tape his feet to the ground.

"Wait," he said, more to himself than to Osanta. Instead of withdrawing, his fists bunched into Osanta's undershirt, closing even more space between them. "This all... doesn't bother you?"

Osanta looked at him, honestly puzzled. "Didn't I as good as answer that question already?"

His expression was catching, because Shiraishi assumed the same, searching his memory for any clues in the recent exchange. "No," he said then, a tad hesitant, lengthening the vowel until the negation he had meant to sound more decisive came out uncertain.

"You really need to pay more attention," Osanta murmured, voice a low caress.

Shiraishi wanted to say something, ask him to clarify, take his confusion and snap it like a twig, but then the jigsaw pieces clicked in time with Osanta's teeth against his. All he had left was to groan into the kiss and let it happen, the invading taste of sherry and tobacco too stupefying to even think of protesting. This time, it didn't matter whether the tongue sliding over his own was, in fact, real or whether it was just a product of his over-active imagination, because the sensations surging through him were far too overwhelming.

Osanta's breath was a steady caress against his heated cheek and the fingers cradling the nape of his neck sent electric currents zipping down his spine whenever they brushed his prickling hairs, coaxing out his own breath in short puffs. His heart was pounding away like a tribal drum, the staccato rhythm drowning out the rustle of fabric as a firm hand slid down his shoulder blades to nestle against the small of his back, warmth pooling out of it. Just then, Osanta moved his hips and a moan escaped Shiraishi, because held in place as he was, there was no evading the delicious friction.

Not that he wanted to. Rather, he wanted to inch closer to it, feel more pressure, just a little–

"Jogged your memory enough?" Osanta asked, tongue swiping over Shiraishi's bottom lip.

The breathy quality of his voice made Shiraishi flex his arms against the sash around his wrists, wanting to tear it apart and be able to tug Osanta back into him. This immobility he had to struggle with nearly drove him insane.

Through the haze of his mind, Shiraishi noticed that Osanta was undoing the buttons of his shirt, the brush of cotton tingling on his skin. Osanta's gaze was bore into him, heavy and rife with desire, but the words he spoke were gentle. "If you don't want to continue this, it's okay. Just tell me. I don't want to force this on you."

Under the weight of his stare and the feeling of thumb pads tickling his chest, it took the wheels in his head a moment to turn. The proposal of breaking this off, letting go of the moment that was all theirs, sucked Shiraishi back into reality, anchoring him to it. This was not about living out his fantasies in a dream-like fog and wondering later if he had only been delirious; this was about trust.

Shiraishi did not think he would ever want to stop this, not now, not when he could read consent, eagerness even, in Osanta's actions. The knowledge of this settling onto his shoulders thrilled him. Hooking the sash behind Osanta's neck, he pulled him in for another kiss. "I want this."

Shiraishi could almost taste the catch of breath in Osanta's throat, but when warm hands smoothed over his chest, pushing him backwards just a little, it was all he could do not to let his wobbling knees give way. They did, eventually, as his heels connected with the bed frame and he tripped onto the mattress.

"Careful," Osanta breathed belatedly.

He stared down at Shiraishi, pinning him not only with his body, but with his eyes too.

The look of approval in them made a new shade of red blossom on Shiraishi's cheeks as though they wanted to try out the whole palette today.

Shiraishi bit his lips as fingers ghosted down his neck, feathery soft, and his head pressed into the mattress, lolling back to give them better access. Osanta's thumb skimmed over the curve of his Adam's apple, touching everywhere but where it was needed.

He leaned forward to suck at the dip between Shiraishi's collarbones, shifting his hips right there against his groin. Shiraishi bucked against him with a constricted moan, spine twisting for more pressure.

"Not so fast," Osanta groaned, pinning his waist down.

Tongue thick with want, Shiraishi could not say anything as Osanta's mouth left wet trails down his abdomen and his hands drew circles on his waist. Writhing against the touch, he did the only thing he knew would get Osanta to stop, however momentarily: he bunched a fist in his hair, and tugged.

A heady moan tumbled from his lips, eyes flashing.

"Stop... teasing," Shiraishi ground out between shallow breaths. Things were progressing too slowly for him, and while he was enjoying it, he couldn't wait for more.

"So impatient, you youngsters these days," Osanta chided softly, tongue diving into the cave of Shiraishi's navel, electrifying. His teeth grazed the flesh and Shiraishi's hips jerked again, a strangled whimper catching in his throat.

"Can't help it... if you're a lazy old man," Shiraishi groaned, fingers carding through Osanta's hair, massaging the abused scalp.

"I'll show you lazy." Osanta slid away to help him out of his boots.

Shiraishi wanted to laugh, but the loss of heat he experienced only allowed for a sound of disapproval. As much as he wanted to be without constriction, he couldn't bear to part with their physical connection.

He tried to tear his foot away, but apparently he couldn't maintain much control over his nervous system this far down. "Untie me first," he said, holding out his wrists.

The look Osanta shot him from behind sweaty bangs was a mixture of wariness and amusement, as if he liked Shiraishi struggling against the bonds or suspected him to punch him if the velvet came undone.

"I'm not gonna hit you," he assured, attempting a faint eye roll behind his heavy lids. "If I'd wanted to I could have done it already."

"That's why I tied them in front – to give you a chance," Osanta grinned weakly, tugging at the sash. As it gave way, he leaned closer to drag his lips up Shiraishi's forearm, twisting it slightly to have better access to the inside of his elbow. Shiraishi inhaled sharply as Osanta sucked at the sensitive skin.

Shiraishi slowly pulled himself upright to shrug off his shirt, the dull throb between his thighs uncomfortable.

Stripping off his pants, he was suddenly too aware of the lust-filled gaze taking him in, making him feel naked and exposed beyond the bareness of his skin. Osanta had also discarded his clothes, completely unabashed, and Shiraishi had to swallow hard, another wave of heat surging through his body. His flushed erection looked enticing and before Shiraishi knew what he was doing, he reached out, embarrassment forgotten.

"Can I?" he asked, inching closer to give the shaft a tentative lick. Osanta's breath hitched and his hands threaded into Shiraishi's hair, all the go-ahead he needed.

"I'm not gonna stop you," he breathed, faint amusement in his voice, but Shiraishi didn't hear him.

He flicked his tongue over the head, then closed his lips around it, inhaling the light scent of musk. Dipping his head, he began to suck, slow and unsure. Osanta groaned deep in his throat, low and animalistic, his fingers rubbing against Shiraishi's neck, smoothing down his shoulders.

It felt... weird; Shiraishi could not think of another word to describe it. Hot and pulsating, soft and hard all the same time. He liked the feel, a little too much, for it was all he concentrated on.

Just then, he sucked a little too hard. Osanta's hips jolted forward, jabbing his prick against the back of Shiraishi's throat, who jerked back and cupped a hand over his mouth to hold back violent coughs.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Osanta's palms were on his shoulders in an instant. "You alright?"

Shiraishi nodded, looking apologetic. "I'm supposed to be sorry," he rasped.

"It's okay. Relax," he said, giving Shiraishi's shoulders a shove, easing him back down onto the bed.

Shiraishi swallowed his embarrassment; he wanted to take his words for it, that it was okay. Combing splayed fingers through Osanta's hair, he tugged him closer, kissing him, distracting himself from second thoughts.

Osanta's tongue delved into his mouth again, sliding over his palate, stealing his breath and second thoughts. Warm hands rubbed over his arms, his neck, his chest, coaxing the tension out of his muscles. They slipped lower, across his abdomen, careful not to touch him where he needed it, not just yet.

Shiraishi moaned at the not-just-yet, low and needy, and his thighs fell open. Following the invitation, Osanta settled between them, skin radiating too much heat.

Their pricks bumped together and Shiraishi could not help but whimper. He lifted his hips to rub them together harder, harsher, and faster than before.

Before he could guide his own hands to where he needed them, Osanta finally touched him, but too soft, too smooth, and Shiraishi whined; he wanted him to curl his fingers around him, to stroke and to tug. He gasped then, prying his mouth away, as Osanta's thumb swiped over the head and it felt so right, so good, but it was still not enough.

There was something hot and slick just below his earlobe, like liquid fire, and his head fell to the side, inviting the feeling to spread. Osanta's teeth grazed his neck, breath curling against his skin and tongue flicking out to leave burning trails.

He could feel Osanta's prick brushing against his own again and then, oh, then his hand coiled around them, pressing them together like bands of iron. Shiraishi dug his fingers into Osanta's shoulders, quivering, panting, and his spine arched sharply as he moved, rubbing against him with just the right amount of friction.

Shiraishi drowned in the sea of sensations, skin sliding against sweat-slick skin, blood pounding through his veins in a mad rush, moans thunderous in his buzzing ears. He lost all sense of direction, of coherence, hisses and gasps and hitched breaths ripping unchecked from his mouth, vibrating in the air that steamed around them.

This was far better than anything he could have made up on his own, far more perfect, so completely and utterly overwhelming that he thought he would go insane.

This was ecstasy.

And the ecstasy found release in another twist of Osanta's wrist, just so, pushing him down the other side of their frantic scramble for the heights, unwinding.

He collapsed back onto the pillows, too spent and out of breath to move a muscle, save for the involuntary spasms of his hips. Osanta's body was hot and heavy on top of his, but he didn't mind it, not even the uncomfortable stickiness between them. Just lying there, Osanta's head against his shoulders, ragged breath stirring the hairs at the nape of his neck and letting exhaustion settle over them, thick and palpable, had something very soothing and Shiraishi found himself relaxing like he had never allowed himself to do before.

After a moment, the bed sheets rustled and the weight on top of him lifted. "Sleep now," Osanta whispered, brushing his knuckles against Shiraishi's cheek. "I'll be right back after I had a smoke."

Shiraishi chuckled weakly, the nature of that sentence striking him as odd. He curved his fingers around the back of Osanta's neck and pulled him in for a languid kiss. "Thank you," he breathed, hand already thumping back onto the mattress.

He smiled, and his eyes drifted shut, blissful darkness reaching for him, pulling him in, cradling him into his long-awaited sleep.

The first thing Shiraishi did in the morning, after getting dressed, was to pour himself a cup of coffee. He smelled, and was in dire need of a shower to wash away dried sweat, but his body did not function properly without a good dose of caffeine. He had practically been running on nothing else these past few weeks.

It was only a little later that he realized it was not morning anymore but, in fact, well into the afternoon. Which explained why he had woken up alone.

For some reason, it was strange to sit in the staff canteen, enjoying his drink, instead of cooping himself up in his office, working until his eyes bled. Strange, because it was so unfamiliar in its peacefulness. He felt calm and, for once, not rushed at all.

"Yo, boss. You look beat," Hikaru said as he placed his laptop onto the table, then hooked a foot around a chair leg to pull the seat under him.

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Shiraishi deadpanned.

"Well, after last night..." Absently rubbing his nose, Hikaru was intent on starting up his computer.

Shiraishi watched him from the corner of his eyes, wary. He felt his cheeks start to burn. What exactly did he know?

"Have you seen this?" Hikaru turned the screen so Shiraishi could see what he meant: A short article in an online newspaper. Mentally, he heaved a sigh of relief.

Until he read the lines. His finger pressed against his mouth to silence the oops that wanted to be heard, as he identified the 'man in a fur-trimmed suit' as Osanta, who had been 'suspected of smuggling' and 'broke out of jail only an hour after the arrest.'

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" Hikaru snickered, eyes agleam with mischief. He was gloating over the slip of his model superior; it was a small slip, but Shiraishi expected to be teased about it in the near future. Hikaru did not pass up opportunities like this; they did not present themselves often, after all.

"What does?" Koharu cooed as he draped himself over Hikaru's shoulder from behind. He liked physical contact, or rather the reactions it provoked; he liked those more.

The younger elf actually squeaked in surprise and flailed his arms like a desperate bird, trying to get the other off of him. Suddenly, Yuuji appeared from behind them as if stepping out of thin air and pried Koharu off by his ear, daring him to cheat on him.

Just like that, Shiraishi found, a sense of normalcy had settled between them, obvious in the way of his colleagues' bickering, while the rest wore long-suffering expressions as they tried to ignore them. They had overcome the past few weeks as if they had never happened, switching from ON to OFF in in less than a day and it left Shiraishi wondering how they did that.

He took another sip from his coffee. In the end it didn't matter how. All that mattered was that for the next few months work would be lax and unhurried, with plenty of time for them to deal with the matters at hand.

Plenty of time to educate Osanta about his duties and make a good Santa out of him.

A smile flitted across Shiraishi's lips. Yesterday he would not have spent two thoughts on the man and now he was already devising a lesson plan for him. How times may change, and people with them.

"Oh, Kurarin," Koharu said next to him, startling him out of his thoughts. "You smell funny."

"What have you been up to?" Yuuji purred into his other ear, voice impish.

Shiraishi jerked in surprise, nearly dropping his cup. He should have borne in mind not to let his guard down around these two. They knew too much, or acted as though they did. How they came to their knowledge, he had no idea, but they enjoyed unsettling people with it.

"Look at the calendar and answer that question for yourself." With that, Shiraishi got up. High time to take a shower. Or anything just to get away from their knowing smirks. Better to avoid playing into their hands; it could very well be they knew nothing at all.

As luck would have it, Osanta chose this exact moment to appear and summon him to his office. He could not have been more suspicious, all light step and cheery voice. "No need to rush," he said when Shiraishi carried his cup over to the sink. It was empty, but Osanta couldn't see that. "Take your time, I'll be waiting."

"I did tell you to be more friendly with him," Yuuji said, with a companionable slap on his shoulder. "But to think you'd be this friendly."

"That's just gross!" Hikaru piped up. Shiraishi hadn't noticed he was still sitting at the table, one earplug in hand, listening. "Stop ruining the image I have of our boss. You two are bad enough. No need to pull him down to your level."

"Oh, Hikaru dearest," Koharu crooned. "If you want attention, there are other ways to make your feelings known." With a histrionic wave of his arm, he skipped over to the younger boy to bestow his favours on him again. He knew Hikaru hated that.

Shiraishi took the momentary distraction for his cue to leave, make haste. He was not eager to face Osanta; in fact, he was rather hesitant. There were too many things he had yet to come clear about. He almost wished the confrontation had taken him by surprise this morning, when he had woken in Osanta's bed.

It could have been over and done with by now, and he wouldn't have been left to wonder all by himself, what next? It was no every day occurrence that your boss offered to sleep with you, so how was he to know what the proper rules of conduct were, now that he had taken him up on the offer. Should he act as if nothing had happened and talk business as usual? It was what he did best after all; hide his insecurities behind a display of competence.

True to this competence, he would face his superior now; even with a bad case of nerves, he knew he would be unable to adjourn any meetings if he could help it. It wasn't like him to take his time and keep anyone waiting.

The office door came in sight, polished hardwood with the lacquered sign reading Busy. He knocked, once, twice, measured like clockwork, then entered.

"Feeling better? You slept like a log," he was greeted. These weren't questions he had expected, weren't matters he wanted to address. Shiraishi stopped, fingers pausing on the handle, as if he was about to turn and leave again. Instead, he pulled the door close behind him, listened to the click as it shut.

"Could you refrain from making this... a public affair?" he asked, a request. Osanta was too obvious, his sudden fondness for Shiraishi was showing. Or maybe it had always been there and Shiraishi had never noticed, because he had never looked. He had been too preoccupied with other things, keeping the company running all by himself, for instance.

Osanta's hand hovered over the ashtray, forefinger raised to tap the cigarette, but hanging in the air now, forgotten. His features were open, honestly surprised. "Why?"

Why, just that one word, why. Whether it was a defiant Why should I? or a plaintive Why do I have to? Shiraishi could not tell.

"It would look like favouritism," Shiraishi said.

A simple reason, yet Osanta laughed, full-throated, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "From my side or from yours? You know that either way, it's bullshit. Santa is never unfair."

"Some children may think otherwise," Shiraishi mused; he had nothing else to say.

"I bet I know what you're thinking," Osanta continued. "You want to forget all about yesterday and act like we never had sex. Fine by me, just say it."

He took a showy drag from cigarette, daring him. Did he have to state it so clearly?

Shiraishi fidgeted. "Truth is, I'm not sure." He really wasn't. It was only a matter of pride that kept him from mentioning, from thinking about the subject. The subject; he couldn't even spell it out in his head. Giving up control and leaving it in the hands of another man. Unheard of.

He was unsure, because he had enjoyed it. Asking Osanta to keep it to himself for whatever reason, not to bring it up again, made their situation final, no second chances. Full-stop, end of story.

An open end, however, held promises, possibilities. There was a thrill about possibilities. Even if they would not be taken right away.

"Oh?" Osanta perked up. "I'm happy to hear that. For now, that's good enough."

For the second time today, Shiraishi felt a surge of calm melt something inside of him, something he hadn't known was there. Tension was like second nature to him.

Shiraishi exhaled, relieved. "Was there anything else or can I go take a shower now?"

Osanta jabbed his cigarette into the ashtray, decisive. A decision. "We can go over the rest together in the shower, what do you say?"