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Santa Clause
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,713
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,713
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter 2
Marie watched as her husband stumbled and slurred his way down to the stables. Kris never could hold a drink.
She hated herself for doing this to him. She used to cry for him, sob for him, pray for him. She wouldn't anymore, she couldn't. She didn't have any tears left, any remorse left to give.
Marie sighed and turned away from the window, her, unlike Kris', always slim and shapely body bumping against counters and chairs and tables. She didn't have the energy to sift between open spaces in their, Santa's and hers, small home. Don't get her wrong, she loved their cluttered little humble abode, and she loved living there with Kris, but tonight, well, she only had the power to wish for their bed to be closer to the kitchen.
Having made it, albeit with several furniture-induced bruises, to the bedroom Marie toed off her red slippers and crawled into the cozy bed without pause. Tonight was the eighth day of December, and just like every other day of that month before Christmas, Marie would count her sins.
First, however, she sat up and clapped her hands for a last cup of tea before bed. A hand sized elf appeared seconds later on her bedside table, a large and steaming mug next to it. Marie quietly thanked him, he was Father Christmas's and her own personal elf- their newest one at least, and was named Mistletoe, a very prestigious name for a member of his species.
The small minute elf nodded mutely with a very schooled expression plastered onto his red cheeks. Minute elves were all of the same basic size as Mistletoe, but could be born in many different colors. Mistletoe was a beautiful shade of scarlet most of the time, but when he was controlling a stressed emotion he would turn the color of her sheets, a deep and bright red.
Not at all a flattering color on him, Marie noticed as Mistletoe disappeared silently, for Mistletoe was always that color around her. In fact, all minute elves changed color around her. She never even pretended not to know why.
Sipping her tea, Marie cradled the insulated mug between trembling fingers. She hated thinking about it, but she knew that it was required if Kris were to be allowed to forget on the twenty-fifth again this year. It had been a high elf's idea, actually, two thousand years ago, to start this torture. The small woman had said, with nasty disrespect, that if Mrs. Clause couldn't take the heat of Kris remembering, then she could deal with why Father Christmas had to forget everything every year. Again, and again, and again, every night for twenty-four days of every year.
She hadn't been on Santa's Nice List for two thousand years, for it was two thousand years ago that she had started with her games.
Marie still didn't know why she had first done it, but sometimes, people didn't need reasons to be idiots. Mother Christmas knew that she didn't from experience. Lots of experience.
She still remembered that first night...
She hated herself for doing this to him. She used to cry for him, sob for him, pray for him. She wouldn't anymore, she couldn't. She didn't have any tears left, any remorse left to give.
Marie sighed and turned away from the window, her, unlike Kris', always slim and shapely body bumping against counters and chairs and tables. She didn't have the energy to sift between open spaces in their, Santa's and hers, small home. Don't get her wrong, she loved their cluttered little humble abode, and she loved living there with Kris, but tonight, well, she only had the power to wish for their bed to be closer to the kitchen.
Having made it, albeit with several furniture-induced bruises, to the bedroom Marie toed off her red slippers and crawled into the cozy bed without pause. Tonight was the eighth day of December, and just like every other day of that month before Christmas, Marie would count her sins.
First, however, she sat up and clapped her hands for a last cup of tea before bed. A hand sized elf appeared seconds later on her bedside table, a large and steaming mug next to it. Marie quietly thanked him, he was Father Christmas's and her own personal elf- their newest one at least, and was named Mistletoe, a very prestigious name for a member of his species.
The small minute elf nodded mutely with a very schooled expression plastered onto his red cheeks. Minute elves were all of the same basic size as Mistletoe, but could be born in many different colors. Mistletoe was a beautiful shade of scarlet most of the time, but when he was controlling a stressed emotion he would turn the color of her sheets, a deep and bright red.
Not at all a flattering color on him, Marie noticed as Mistletoe disappeared silently, for Mistletoe was always that color around her. In fact, all minute elves changed color around her. She never even pretended not to know why.
Sipping her tea, Marie cradled the insulated mug between trembling fingers. She hated thinking about it, but she knew that it was required if Kris were to be allowed to forget on the twenty-fifth again this year. It had been a high elf's idea, actually, two thousand years ago, to start this torture. The small woman had said, with nasty disrespect, that if Mrs. Clause couldn't take the heat of Kris remembering, then she could deal with why Father Christmas had to forget everything every year. Again, and again, and again, every night for twenty-four days of every year.
She hadn't been on Santa's Nice List for two thousand years, for it was two thousand years ago that she had started with her games.
Marie still didn't know why she had first done it, but sometimes, people didn't need reasons to be idiots. Mother Christmas knew that she didn't from experience. Lots of experience.
She still remembered that first night...