Chapter Text
Louis shuffled in his gold, predominantly plastic throne, restless, impatient. Sweat was already starting to pool in the small of his back. He felt a drop gather, release and slide down towards his backside. Yuck.
The goddamn fabric of his suit – whatever it was - it didn’t breathe. At all. Making it more or less a sweat suit. Was there such a thing as 200% polyester? It felt like it. He shifted forward, trying to tease the fabric away from his back, where it was starting to stick.
He eyed the queue of kids waiting, feeling mentally fatigued already. God. These shifts were killer. Ten hours. Two half hour breaks only. Small talk, fake smiles and feigned interest. He’d had some shit jobs in his time, for sure, but this one was probably the worst. It was what it was. He needed the work. Needed the dosh.
He twitched his nose, adjusted his beard. More polyester. It itched like a bastard. He checked his watch. 8.58am. Just two minutes until opening then. He heaved a deep sigh, trying to rally himself. He glanced across at the photographer, a long-suffering fellow in black skinny’s, a black button-down shirt and a grey cardigan that might once have been fashionable. He had mousy brown hair that flopped onto his forehead and a face permanently creased with defeat. Broken dreams maybe. Louis imagined this probably wasn’t his first choice of gig either. Jeff. Still. He was decent enough. Albeit a little dull.
Actually… a thought slid into his troubled mind. Where the fuck was the elf? There should be an elf here by now. Or Chief Kid Wrangler you could call them. Usually a student of some type. Girl. Boy. Whatever. Usually bratty. Usually entitled. Usually didn’t last more than a few days. He rolled his eyes at the luxury of such a thing. Chucking a job in cos you didn’t fancy it anymore. In what universe?
He didn’t bother to learn their names. The elves. Didn’t bother to make small talk. He’d given that up. It wasn’t worth the effort he’d learned. Not only cos they were short on manners and long on attitude, but because this time next week, they’d have fucked off again.
Further, there was a certain disdain with which they seemed to treat him. Every one of them to a man (woman). Wasn’t Santa supposed to be the top of the food chain? Pole position? (North or otherwise). These kids hadn’t got the memo. Apparently. Even so, brats that they were, he needed one, stat, to do the heavy lifting. Manage the hordes. Fuck’s sake.
He eyed the queue of kids nervously, straining at the faux velvet rope. Restless feet, glinting eyes. If there was no Elf by 9am, Louis was buggered if he knew how to manage the next.
In the nick of time, he saw movement in his peripheral vision. A shiny green shape materialised. Louis’ eyes flicked across, taking in sequins, someone tall. Dark hair. A few curls were poking out from under a hat which looked like it had been hastily shoved on.
‘Geez-us’ – he swore under his breath. No fucking work ethic these kids. Talk about a last-minute Charlie.
He watched the Elf unhook the velvet rope and usher the first pair in the queue through; a harried looking blonde mother and her son. Louis was going to take a punt and pick that the boy was about seven. They didn’t get much older than that. ‘Unbelievers’ from that age on. Usually.
It was at that point that the ‘not fussed with punctuality’ Elf turned, shepherding the two punters towards Louis.
He copped a proper look at his assistant now as he got closer. Holy fucking shit! This was not your usual bratty teenager. This kid had to be closer to Louis’ age. Early to mid-20’s if he was a day. Also, he was hot as all get out. What?!
Flabbergasted, Louis drank him in. Long legs, slim and shapely. It shouldn’t be feasible to make green and white horizontal striped tights look that good. His green sequinned shorts were extremely short on his long legs. A little too snug too, to be totally fucking honest. Christ. His eyes moved north, taking in the jacket, the wide black belt on a slim waist, broad shoulders. Holy heck. His day was looking up. Eye candy anyone? Hello!
Still, despite the visual feast which had just unfolded before his eyes, over the past greedy two seconds that his first sweep up the Elf’s body had taken… the next two seconds? They shook him. The boy, his face, it floored him. He actually gasped, then quickly disguised it as an awkward cough.
What he saw was this: Creamy skin, with just a hint of dark stubble. Blemish free. A jawline that was so square it looked like it had been carved. Plush dark pink lips - with a perfect cupid’s bow - that looked like they had been made to be kissed. Sucked on. Wrapped around his… ahem. Better not to finish that thought.
He had an aquiline nose and eyes so green that they matched his entire outfit. All of that topped off with dark brown floppy curls, unable to be remotely tamed by his Elf hat.
Louis had no time to further interrogate the spectacular view, more’s the pity, as the young kid scrambled up onto his lap. No shyness this one. Louis settled him onto one knee, balancing him deftly with a careful hand on his hip as the kid dug into his jean’s pocket. ‘Uh-oh’ he thought to himself. ‘A list.’
He exchanged a knowing smile with the boy’s mum, who had the grace to give him an apologetic smile. Jesus Christ. Kids these days. The boy, Matthew, and yes - seven – wanted an iPhone 17, a PS5 console – with games, a trip to New Zealand to visit ‘Hobbiton’, a new tablet and a yellow yo-yo (random).
Louis did his usual. Tried to create a little hope, but not too much expectation. Talked about how Santa had to manage to make sure there were enough gifts for every kid. Would do his best but he couldn’t make any guarantees. Matthew looked at him with what appeared to be scepticism. ‘When did the young become so worldly wise?’ Louis wondered.
Distracted already, he slid his eyes sideways, searching for the Elf again, but he was out of his eyeline for now.
The photographer hovered. Louis gave him a nod. Time to close the deal. Get it done. Onto the next.
Louis did his best to force a smile for the picture. Could they even see it under this mess of white beard and moustache he wondered? Didn’t matter. He knew the smile wouldn’t reach his eyes anyway. He wasn’t a miracle worker – Santa - despite the press.
He gave the boy a gentle pat on the back, making a move to lift him down to the floor again. The kid protested though, turning to his mother.
“I want a picture with the Elf too Mum” Matthew pronounced, with more than a hint of a whine.
Louis hurried to interject. “It’s ‘A moment with Santa’ this gig” he explained, pointing to the sign the mall had erected.
Matthew looked at him doubtfully.
He doubled down on it. “I’m the guy that makes the magic happen” he winced as he said it.
Just then, the Elf materialised, appearing to have overheard or perhaps having read the situation at a glance.
“That’s no trouble at all” the Elf smiled, moving in closer to the group.
Holy heck. Dimples. Deep dimples when he smiled, Louis observed.
This kid was stupidly pretty. Right now, Louis didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse. He paused to wonder why he didn’t meet men that looked like that in clubs. (Stupid universe).
Jeff lined up the shot, shuffling closer. “Ah mate…” he signalled at the Elf.
“Harry” a deep voice rumbled out of the God-like creature on Louis’ left.
“A little closer to Santa please. You’re not quite in frame.”
‘Harry’ (apparently) moved closer in, Louis catching a whiff of something exquisite. It smelt like jasmine, sandalwood and something smoky. He breathed it in deeply, with gratitude and more than a little curiosity.
Photo done, Matthew slid off his knee, a happy camper, and the vision that was Harry -and his scintillating aroma with him - moved away.
‘Shame’ Louis thought, eyeing Harry’s arse as he navigated the pair to the exit and welcomed the next.
= / =
Louis checked his watch quickly, grateful for his microbreak, as Harry seemed to be struggling to get the next kid in the queue moving. A little girl. A toddler. Three’ish Louis would say. Pink dress. White Mary-janes. Her wispy strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up into a fountain.
Fark. Only just after 10.30am. Another two hours till his break. He was hungry, thirsty and dying for a fag. His face itched relentlessly, hot and uncomfortable under his whiskers. He tried not to scratch. Bad for his skin. Plus, who wanted a restless, skeevy Santa?
He’d not exchanged a word with the beautiful Harry yet. The boy seemed pretty focused and not that friendly. Fair. Saved Louis the effort of small talk. Still…he wouldn’t mind hearing that gorgeous deep gravelly voice again. Right into his ear preferably. He imagined one of ten things he’d like him to say, grinning to himself. A welcome moment of levity. Escapism.
His eyes ran unbidden up Harry’s legs to rest on his too pert backside, in his too tight shorts. ‘Stupid amounts of hot’ he thought, feeling an unexpected rush of adrenaline, his dick twitching a little in his heavy red pants.
‘Whoops. Inappropriate much?’ He desperately tried to think of something serious and not at all stimulating.
Fortunately, distraction was forthcoming. ‘Madeline’ – so the three-year old was called it appeared – was not keen on him. Him Santa, rather than him Louis. It happened. Not infrequently. He’d learned to depersonalise it over the course of the gig. Mostly.
He let go what he hoped was a friendly sounding ‘Ho ho ho’ in his deepest voice. (Internal eye roll).
The girl whimpered, clinging to her mother’s leg fiercely.
Harry rolled his eyes at Louis’ efforts.
‘Geez’ Louis thought to himself. ‘Everyone’s a critic’. He was only after doing his best.
He leaned down, beckoning to the girl, trying not to look sinister.
“It’s okay Madeline. Maddy? I don’t bite.”
Harry let out a snort, possibly derisive, possibly amused.
The girl looked at Louis with something akin to curiosity.
“If you come closer, sit with Santa, you can tell me what you want for Christmas…”
She stuck her thumb in her mouth, for comfort, eyes wide in her face.
Louis sensed he needed to close this out. The waiting visitors, in an increasingly long line, were becoming restless. Getting noisier. He could see people looking at watches and phones, heaving exasperated sighs. Shit.
An idea occurred to him. He reached a quick hand out to Harry, who was standing idly by, at a loss for how best to help it seemed. Louis tugged at the bottom of his jacket, pulling him closer.
“Harry here will show you” he told Madeline earnestly, as she sucked her thumb with all new ferocity. “Sitting on my knee’s not scary at all.” He gave Harry’s top another hard tug.
Harry’s hand was quick to Louis’, batting him away. His face had formed a dark and troubled look. “Excuse me! Consent!” he hiss-whispered, while he simultaneously shifted out of reach.
Louis looked at him blankly, thinking ‘What the fuck?’
Harry frowned at him. A fierce shake of his head. Curls dancing.
“Jesus Christ” Louis muttered under his breath. He couldn’t do right for doing wrong.
Fortunately, at that point, Madeline’s mother gave up on the mission, scooping her daughter into her arms, dropping kisses into her hair and exiting the ‘A moment with Santa’ installation without a further word or a backwards glance.
‘Rude’ Louis thought. Oh well. Onto the next…
Two boys trotted up, Harry’s hands ghosting their backs. Twins, Louis would say. Red-haired. Freckled. They reminded him a little of Oli back in the day. School age he thought. Just barely. Boisterous. Riling each other up.
Harry ushered them closer in. His energy with Louis was off. Or was he just a quiet kid, Louis wondered.
Holy fuck. That was just what he needed to make this day run even longer Louis thought. A reticent possibly moody Elf.
As one each of the twins threw themselves onto one each of his legs – Louis having to shift rapidly to avoid a flying foot into his crotch- he reminded himself of his hourly rate, then chastised his fortunes ‘So not worth it.’
“What would you like for Christmas this year lads?” he asked. Digging deep for good grace.
The sassier of the two informed him “Already wrote ya. Just here for the pic mate.”
Louis waved over at Jeff, then grinned maniacally for the camera.
The thought that went through his head as the boys wriggled, and another drip of sweat rolled down his back, Harry lost in his own thoughts and not at all fixated with Louis (sadly), was short and complete…
‘Fuck my entire life.’