Archive of Our Own

Every family has their own holiday traditions.

For some, it includes decorating cookies or trees. For others, it's caroling and elaborate dinners.

For Gojo Satoru's family, Christmas was a time to do puzzles by the fire place, watch a cheesy holiday movie (in which Satoru would cover his kids' eyes whenever the main characters kissed), and gorging themselves on homemade hot chocolate and cookies.

With Megumi being five, and Tsumiki being six, they were still young enough to believe in Santa Claus — though Megumi was already growing skeptical. Only last week, Satoru had overheard Megumi asking his best friend, Itadori Yuuji, how it could be possible for Santa to stop by every home within the limited hours he had.

When Yuuji had looked up at Satoru with big baby puppy-dog eyes, asking him to explain the phenomena, Satoru had managed to think very quickly on his feet — as was a skill of parenthood. He explained that Santa's reindeer had a diet of cookies which allowed them to be in a permanent state of sugar-high and therefore could move at incredible speeds.

Megumi did not look like he believed him.

To which, Satoru had pointed to his PhD in physics, hanging near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the living room which did not house a single one of Satoru's own books but entirely belonged to his bookworm husband.

That seemed to end the conversation, especially when Yuuji demanded they make a fresh batch of cookies to set out for Santa's reindeer.

Satoru should have known better.

"I don't want to sleep. I want to stay up and see Santa." Megumi pouted from his bed — something that was rather hard to take seriously when he was dressed in footie pajamas covered in black and white dogs.

"Oh, me too! I want to give him the card I wrote!" Tsumiki's little head flopped over the side of her top bunk, looking down at where Satoru and Megumi were seated on the bottom bed. In her hand was a card drowning in purple glitter with the words: THANK U, SANtA!

"Everyone knows if you see Santa putting your presents under the tree, they all instantly turn into coal." Satoru said, sagely.

"Really?!" Tsumiki shrieked, at the same moment Megumi said, "Not true."

"Is too."

"No," Megumi insisted, "Nobara said she saw him last year." He crossed his little arms as if that marked the end of the discussion, and Satoru couldn't help but pinch his little nose.

(Megumi did not, in fact, like this).

"Maybe Nobara is a liar."

"Nuh-uh," Megumi said, cheeks starting to burn an adorable pink from frustration.

"Listen, Gumi," Satoru lifted his hands in the air as if giving up, "if you want to go to the couch and wait for Santa all night, I won't stop you, but then what would happen to your puppy?"

It was like a record scratched.

Megumi's arms slowly uncrossed and Tsumiki was nearly hanging off the side of the bed in her effort to get closer to Satoru. Satoru, in turn, braced his legs in case he needed to swoop forward and catch her.

"…a puppy?" Megumi seemed to be balancing between shock and suspicion. After all, he'd been asking for one nearly a year now.

"Yup," Satoru popped the 'p', "Santa called me last week to check if you were still a good boy and mentioned he had a puppy picked out just for you. But if you really want to see Santa when he comes by, well, you remember what I said about all your presents turning to coal…"

Satoru watched as his words fully hit his kids, as Megumi and Tsumiki made wide eyes at each other, communicating in that wordless way of theirs. Their eyes darted toward Satoru enough that he was sure they were talking about him, but he let it be. Waited.

Like clockwork, thirty seconds later both kids were scrambling back into their beds; stuffing their feet under the covers (Megumi kicking at Satoru's thigh in an effort to plunge deeper under the duvet), and laying back on their pillows.

"Good night, dad."

"Night, dad."

The twin, high-pitched and childishly sweet voices spoke at the same time, and Satoru had to fight a laugh.

"Are you sure you don't want me to read you a bedtime story before you sleep?" He asked, mainly as a way to entertain himself.

Megumi shook his head and Tsumiki pipped a quick, "No, thank you!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yup!"

"Really, really sure—ow!" Clearing having had enough of his teasing, Megumi's little feet kicked him right in the thigh, and Satoru took it as his dismissal. "Okay, I hear you, no need to bully me, Gumi. Jeez. I don't know where you get your attitude from."

He dropped a kiss to his son's forehead (a forehead which quickly scrunched in annoyance and only made Satoru kiss it again and again until Megumi was shoving him away with a grumble).

Rising up, he dropped a kiss on his daughter's head (who was much more amiable, and even shot him a "Love you, dad," which nearly had him melting into a pathetic gooey puddle).

He really loved his kids.

With one last look back, Satoru closed the lights and shut the door, pausing only to rest his head against the wooden frame and let out a breath.

He really loved his kids, but man, was it exhausting sometimes. Especially when alone.

Not that Satoru was a tragic divorcee or widower — don't get the wrong idea. His husband just so happened to be annoyingly busy.

Moving down the hallway, shutting lights as he went, Satoru made his way to a locked door in the back of the house, just past the kitchen: the garage.

Two tiny barks met him as soon as he pushed the door open, and for a moment he worried that the kids may have heard the noise and would come barreling out any minute. But after a few seconds passed and nothing happened, Satoru turned a glare and pointed finger to the two husky puppies — one white and one black — warning them to be silent.

In response, both wagged their tails at him, smiling with their tongues lolling out.

Satoru had picked them up this morning while the kids were at the ice skating ring with the Itadori's. He'd found them two weeks ago at a local shelter. Apparently, a local puppy mill had been busted by the police for their terrible conditions and the shelter had called Satoru to let him know that they had an all-white puppy like he'd been looking for (he and Megumi were frequent volunteers and visitors at their local shelter).

When he'd shown up and seen the all-black puppy in the next cage over, how could he not get them both?

It had, of course, taken some begging to convince his husband that this would not at all be a bad idea, and in the end (just as he knew he would), Geto Suguru caved and agreed to adopt them both.

If that man was anything, it was a sap for his husband. They both knew this, because it was the same for Satoru. Suguru could convince him to do horrible things (like eat an entire bowl of broccoli 'for his health', and he would do it because he loved the man).

In fact, Satoru had been in love with Suguru since their second semester, freshman year of college. Six months after they'd been assigned to the same group in their Philosophy 101 course.

The first 6 months had been rather rough, with Suguru calling him a spoiled brat and Satoru calling him an asshole in return.

By senior year, they were dating and inseparable.

And though there were definitely some ups and downs and not-quite linear moments in the in-between, all that mattered was that they were completely obsessed with each other by the time graduation came rolling around.

But that was nearly eight years ago now.

In that time, they moved to a new country together, Satoru got his PhD and became a professor, Suguru worked his way up and became a big shot literary agent, they'd bought a house, and adopted two kids.

All in all, it was a very fulfilling life and one Satoru had only ever dreamed of living.

But, as he stacked multiple boxes in his arms like some sadistic, giant game of Jenga, all while two puppies circled around his feet — nearly tripping him with every step — Satoru couldn't help but wish that his husband were here helping him instead of closing a movie-deal for one of his clients, halfway across the country.

Instead, leaving Satoru to step back into his deliciously warm home and strategically organizing the presents under the tree — alone.

As he ate three of the cookies left out for 'Santa' (ensuring to leave plenty of crumbs and a big bite in one of the uneaten cookies), his dour mood was only uplifted by the thought of Megumi's face when he'd unwrap the box that housed two dog collars tomorrow morning.

Well, that and the reminder of his other Christmas traditions.

Satoru shut off the lights in the living room and turned off the fire place (Tsumiki had nearly cried when Satoru suggested leaving it on throughout the night because "What if Santa got burned?"), leaving the space to be illuminated by nothing other than the soft white lights of their Christmas tree.

Despite Satoru having lived in this house for nearly five years, he needed to press his hand to the wall to guide him through the dark, fingers trailing over picture frames. Even like this, he still managed to trip over an abandoned toy, hopping on one foot and muffling his curses with a bitten lip.

Half-limping, and feeling like he'd aged another five years, Satoru finally made it to his room; slumping against the door frame as soon as he closed it.

As always, he was taken aback by how big their room looked when he was alone in it. The bed in the center with its singularly rumpled side became as loud as an all-cap sentence announcing: I'M ALONE.

And sure, this neighborhood was fairly safe (so much so it was rather boring), but that's why they'd picked it. Suguru had been excited by the little bunny they'd seen in the backyard and the ample space to grow their own garden. Satoru remembered thinking it was so endearing the way Suguru had been going on and on about the school districts and how good they were — despite them not even having kids yet.

The day they decided to buy this house, Satoru had probably fallen even more in love with his husband.

Which was why he could not, under any circumstances, tell him how unsettling he found it sometimes.

As someone who grew up in a busy city like Tokyo, only spending time in the country when it was at his equally bustling family estate, the quiet of their neighborhood unsettled him.

The first night they'd been there, Satoru swore he'd heard a wolf howling at a distance that felt far too close. Windy nights caused the trees to eerily scrape against their windows, and the lack of immediate neighbors often meant that when Satoru looked out the window he was met by nothing but his own reflection.

Of course, five years later and the quiet didn't bother him nearly as much, and when it did he could just snuggle deeper into his husband's side.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option on nights like these. Hadn't been an option for nearly two weeks now.

And call Satoru paranoid, but he'd checked the locks of all the doors and windows twice that night already and fought the urge to do it a third.

Only the knowledge that Suguru would be back at 5am (timed to arrive before the kids woke up so he'd be there for the present-opening), settled him.

But Satoru needed a little extra something to help ease his nerves.

Hence another Christmas tradition.

Plopping down on his bed (arms and legs spread out like a starfish so the comforter puffed around him), Satoru reached into his bedside drawer and took out the small, wrapped box Suguru had left for him with firm instructions to wait until Christmas eve to open it. The wrapping paper was a candy cane print and had Suguru's looping scrawl: For Satoru.

Like a kid, Satoru tore into the paper, and then into the box like a fiend. Only stopping when he pulled the gift out.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of it: a large, purple vibrating dildo, curved and with a fat head.

Satoru's plaid pajama pants quickly landed on the dresser.

His shirt was ruched up to his throat, and a shiver raced through him at the cold air brushing against his bare body. A bottle of water, lip balm, and lollipop fell to the floor as Satoru's hand blindly scrambled for the bottle of lube he kept in the drawer.

You see, Christmas Eve had been their anniversary for the longest time — the day they finally confessed their feelings for each other. After they got married, that anniversary changed to reflect their summer wedding, but they still did something on the holiday to commemorate how important it was.

That 'something' involved going to town on each other like animals. Though, since they had adopted the kids, that tradition had been limited to the night of Christmas Eve, when the kids were out like a light and none the wiser.

The vibrator was heavy and warm where it rested on Satoru's chest, as if it were holding him down. His legs were splayed open so wide that he felt it in his hips, but as he warmed the lube between his fingers before lazily stroking his cock with one hand and stroking the furl of muscle with the finger of his other, he found that the pain was quickly forgotten.

It didn't take much for his cock to grow hard in his hand but it wasn't until he closed his eyes and began imagining his husband that his hole began to twitch under his massaging fingertip.

Satoru was remembering the last time they'd been truly alone: a romantic hotel getaway while the kids stayed with Suguru's parents.

On the back of his eyelids, he remembered how Suguru had looked stepping out of the bathroom, body shining from his recent shower, a towel slung low on his hips and emphasizing his softened but still muscular body. The trail of hairs that disappeared beneath the plush fabric. The flex of his biceps as he worked to dry his long hair — the towel hanging on with nothing more than a hope and a dream. Satoru's mouth had watered and he hadn't hesitated to crawl across the bed, his own naked body on display, until he pressed his nose against the soft skin below the other man's belly button.

A hand petting his head and urging him closer, lower, his lips bumping into the outline of something hard.

Satoru bit back a moan as his hand moved faster against his cock. Slowly, he pressed his finger into his fluttering hole, to the second knuckle, pulling out for a moment before pushing back in. The slide of the lubricant, both front and back, filling the space with sloppy wet noises.

In his mind, Suguru's dark eyes stared down at him, brows furrowed and expression serious as he fucked into Satoru's mouth, hands gripping white hair to hold him still, ensuring Satoru could do nothing more than take it.

"Fuck—" Satoru had to squeeze his cock to keep from coming, his entire body going rigid to withstand the pull of his orgasm. Once settled, he pressed a second finger inside and the stretch was so delicious he unconsciously spread his legs further.

With a shaky hand, he finally grabbed the silicone cock from where it rested on his chest and brought it up to his lips, licking and sucking on its tip; quietly moaning like a whore as he imagined his husband's beautifully pink flush cock with its fat uncircumcised head and slight curve. His tongue tasted the silicone, massaging against it just the way he knew Suguru liked.

"Ngh," Any word he may have said were lost as the plastic cock pressed nearly to his throat and a third finger coaxed his hole open until it felt like it'd be left gaping the moment his fingers were finished stretching the now-softened muscle.

When the dildo was pulled from his lips, it shined and left a trail of spit on Satoru's chin. Despite this, he used his equally wet and slightly pruney fingers to squirt more lube onto the plastic phallus.

Trailing it's cold wet body against his chest, down his stomach, and over his cock.

He's tempted to turn on the vibrations but wanted to make this last as long and possible, and worried his drooling cock would not be able to withstand any more stimulation. If Suguru were here, he'd flick Satoru's cock and call him pathetic for already being so close to the edge. He'd probably stroke Satoru's cock with rough calloused fingers, using his other hand to press Satoru down by his sternum. Satoru's own hands obediently tucked under the pillow above his head.

The vibrator barely met any resistance when he pressed it against where he was aching, his already twitching and loose hole swallowing it easily. He had to bite his bicep to keep from moaning as the curve perfectly massaged the sensitive spots of his insides.

After that, Satoru wasted no time fucking himself on it. He couldn't even twist and pinch his nipples or stroke his cock the way he liked because it was already too much.

A forensic team would surely be able to identify him by the tooth imprints left on his bicep alone with the way he was salivating and muffling himself on the muscle as his hips twisted in an attempt to hit his prostate with each and every thrust.

He thought about Suguru fucking him from the back, holding Satoru upright by his throat, his other hand pressing against his stomach and hot words being breathed into his ear about how tight Satoru was, how he could feel his cock punching through Satoru's stomach, how he wished he could get him pregnant as he pressed Satoru into the mattress and filled him to the brim, always there to stuff the dribbling cum back into his gaping hole.

The moment Satoru turned on the vibration, he was a goner.

He lasted two more thrusts before he was spilling all over his stomach with a shout that was not nearly as muffled as it should be.

When his vision lost its fuzzy quality, he fumbled across the now-rumpled sheets with a shaky hand until he found his phone. Lifting it up, he opened the camera app and angled it to capture his flushed body, the splatter of white across his chest, his flaccid and spent cock resting against his hip and his still-splayed shaky legs.

He sent it to Suguru.

Paired with a text: Dildo - 1, Suguru - 0

And: Miss u

Satoru's eyes were dropping and as soon as he finished typing he tossed his phone to the floor and internally cussed the male orgasm for feeling so good but being so incredibly messy. He didn't bother showering (much too tired for that) but did wipe down his whole body with a wet cloth and half-assed brushing his teeth. He rummaged through Suguru's drawer, making a mess of his neatly folded clothing, until he found a t-shirt he liked and a loose pair of boxers, and crashed into bed.

He was losing the battle against consciousness and only had enough motor skill function left to flick the light switch near his bed off and snuggle under the covers.

Satoru woke up feeling too hot and disoriented, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and his heart nearly beating out of his chest — as one does after waking up suddenly from a too-long nap or from a new alarm.

The clock on the side table read 1:08am in bright red.

With a huff, Satoru rubbed at his eyes, trying to come to terms with the fact that he'd only gotten two or so hours of sleep and that it was unlikely his normally-insomniatic body would allow him to go back to bed so easily.

Experience had told him that the best thing would be to get up and make a cup of chamomile tea, but the risk of losing the last dredges of sleep didn't seem like a good enough payoff. Optimistically, he hoped that if he closed his eyes and lay still long enough, sleep would wash over him again and—

Satoru's eyes shot open, and through the pitch black room he looked at the door. He could swear he just heard—

There.

Oh fuck.

In the distant gut of his home, the sound of heavy foot steps sounded. They were careful, slow but purposeful, and the longer Satoru blindly waited for his eyes to adjust, the louder the steps got.

With stark clarity — the type that nearly choked him — Satoru realized what had woken him up: the sound of a door closing.

His heart started beating with renewed fever, and the blood rushing past his ears was nearly enough to muffle the sound of the footsteps, and yet, in some sick twist of evolutionary biology, he could hear each creaking floorboard in crystal clarity.

Each step was a bomb.

Any hope he had that he was dreaming or hallucinating was erased when a loud thump was followed by a muffled "The hell—?" in a deep male voice. Something skidded across the floor and Satoru barely had enough brain power to remember the toy he'd also tripped over in the hallway that he hadn't picked up, too lazy to deal with it at the moment.

And oh fuck.

The kids.

The kids who were sleeping upstairs. What if the intruder decided to venture up the stairs? What if a tired but thirsty child came down looking for a drink of water but ran into some stranger instead?

The thought had Satoru trembling while simultaneously wired — adrenaline surely pumping through his body. His thoughts entirely narrowed to his kids and the stranger in their home.

A thousand scenarios burst through his head: he could grab a shoe or a lamp and run out into the hall and hope the intruder didn't have a knife — or worse; he could call the police and hope they arrived quick enough, but his shaky hand couldn't find his phone anywhere; he could pretend to be asleep and hope that he'd catch the intruder by surprise when he least expected it; he could—

A soft click as the door knob turned and Satoru's decision was made for him: he quickly laid back down and half-shut his eyes in a poor imitation of sleep — his chest rising and falling far too quickly but he could only pray that the dark concealed that fact from the stranger.

Satoru heard the swish of the door open as the wood dragged across the carpeted floor — which had seemed like a great idea when they were renovating but was now proving to be entirely idiotic. Each step was swallowed by the soft fabric, leaving Satoru even more on edge as he struggled to pinpoint where the man was. He was also an idiot for choosing a fetal position as his resting pose, leaving his back entirely vulnerable to the man.

Oh fuck. If he died today, his kids would be traumatized and he's sure Megumi would never forgive him. Suguru either. Tsumiki probably would.

What the fuck was he going on about?

Fear made him delirious, clearly. He was so tense and his heart beat so aggressively he was sure anyone within a mile radius could hear it loud and clear.

Maybe that meant they'd also hear it when it stopped.

The tension was killing him and Satoru was about to throw it all to hell and start screaming bloody murder when the covers were ripped from his body, unveiling his cowering position to the cold air.

Instinct had him turning to see his assailant. The room was nearly too dark to see anything, but Satoru was still able to make out the large hulking silhouette standing above him. As his eyes adjusted, he swore he saw—

…

… Santa Claus.

… in a pair of sunglasses.

A big red suit with white fur trim, a hat angled on the man's head, curly white hair and a full white beard. It's so disorienting Satoru almost felt bad about reprimanding his son about the man's existence.

And then his eyes trailed down to the roll of duct tape in the Santa's hand.

There was a pause, and then they were both moving.

Satoru scrambled to move across the bed, but a hand closed around his bare ankle and pulled him back. He kicked out, hands scrambling and pulling at the covers but his other leg was also quickly reprimanded. Satoru was nothing more than a feral cat, hissing and kicking and scratching — resulting in a hissed "Bitch" when one of his shots landed. But the man didn't hesitate nor slow, taking every hit and wrestling him down, using Satoru's own movements against him to flip him onto his stomach and twist his arms sharply in a way that had Satoru screaming out in pain.

A bolt of fear rushed through him at that, the idea that his kids would hear him struggling and come down to help him, dooming themselves in the process. The thought was enough to cause Satoru to slow his struggles and his kicks — not that they were doing much with the Santa straddling his hips and holding his arms hostage. Every move only proved to nearly pull his shoulder out of its socket rather than to actually help him escape.

He slowed and then stopped, trying to reign in his own hysterics to think and play this smart.

Unfortunately, he only got as far as "beg for my life," when he felt a shift and heard the sound of duct tape being pulled.

The hysterics took over.

He's squirming again, kicking, begging — whimpered pleas under his breath of "Wait" and "No" and "Hold on" and "You're hurting me—ah!"

A fist grabbed his hair and pulled, quickly shutting him up save for half-whimpering sounds. It felt like strands of his hair would come loose in the man's hand by the time he let go.

Satoru's body was pulled into a sort of crescent shape, his back bowing and his ear being brought closer and closer to his assailant's lips.

Which was when Satoru truly heard the Santa's gruff voice for the first time, "Shut the fuck up," another tug to Satoru's hair that was met with a low cry, "and stay still if you don't want me to really hurt you. Understand?" When Satoru didn't answer, the man tugged again, "Understand?"

"Y—yes. Yes," he said, the words shaky. He was quickly 'rewarded,' his hair dropped unceremoniously. Satoru lay completely still, managing to take a few breaths as the Santa manhandled his body: bringing his hands together and crudely taping them behind his back.

From where his head was resting on its side, he could just make out Suguru's alarm clock in the dark, dyeing the side table red as it marked the time — 1:30. Satoru marveled at how little time had passed when he felt like it hours should have passed already.

The mattress shifted below him and two fingers began prodding his lips, demanding to be let in. Teeth and lips clenched in defiance, but that only resulted in his already-tender scalp being yanked until a shout ripped his lips open. The fingers did not hesitate to press all the way into his throat until he was choking on the salty, thick, calloused digits.

"Come on," the Santa prodded, fucking Satoru's mouth with his fingers, going too far back that he choked with every thrust. Soon enough, Satoru was salivating against the mattress and the fingers were quickly soaked. "There you go." The man cooed cruelly. "That wasn't so bad, was it? You didn't have to be such a bitch earlier."

He did not appreciate it when Satoru bit down.

The Santa paid him back with a harsh slap to his exposed cheek that immediately burned and caused his ears to ring.

As quickly as the fingers were occupying his mouth, they were gone and a piece of tape was being roughly placed across Satoru's mouth.

Hot breath coasted over his ear, "What a pity that you look like a screamer." A tongue licked up Satoru's neck before biting down — hard — causing him to let out a muffled cry and very much proving the man's point. "Now, let's see what we're working with," The Santa said and something about his tone had Satoru wriggling anew.

He didn't get very far, not before his face was pressed into the mattress — his nose certainly feeling like it would bruise — and a meaty hand lifted his hips up, and his underwear down.

When Satoru tried to drop down, the Santa's grip turned bruised and a flashing pain ripped through his left ass cheek. It took a moment to realize he'd been bitten. A warning squeeze on the back of his neck indicated next time it would be worse.

The recollection that this man could have a weapon but hadn't chosen to use it yet ran rampant in Satoru's mind, like red warning lights flashing. And so, with trembling legs similar to that of a newborn calf, Satoru stayed up on his knees and only allowed himself the sobbing whimpers that escaped him as the man palmed and spread his ass cheeks, exposing his sensitive hole to the cold air.

Wet fingers prodded his hole, and when two were quickly and easily swallowed, Satoru felt hot tears trickle down his cheeks as the man started to laugh.

It was not as ho-ho-ho-y as one would expect but rather low, mean, and entirely masculine in a way that had shivers run down Satoru's spine.

"You're so fucking loose. Were you prepping yourself for me, little slut?"

No, he whimpered into the tape.

Another finger easily pushed in and the Santa used words like wet and cock-whore, and phrases like you want my dick that bad?, and you're soaking wet back here.

Against his thigh, Satoru could feel the erect outline of the man's cock seeking friction. The hand around the back of his head pushed him deeper into the mattress, harder with every thrust, and Satoru couldn't breathe.

When the man removed his fingers and something else pressed against his hole, his breath was stolen from him.

The man bottomed out in one go. One sickeningly quick snap of his hips and he was buried in Satoru's guts. Just like that.

Only Satoru would know the way he moaned at the intrusion, the sound nothing more than vibrations against the mattress.

Which may have been for the better because when a slick hand started to sloppily and quickly stroke his cock, he nearly screamed.

"You act like you don't want it, but you're dripping all over the mattress, princess." The Santa paced each thrust of his hips with a stroke of Satoru's cock, creating a ruthless pace. "Wet for me, front and back."

The man kicked Satoru's knees and pressed down on his back, every thrust pounding on his prostate in a way that had him rapidly hurtling toward the edge.

His fingers were nearly numb but he still used them to try and push at the body beneath the velvet Santa suit behind him. Tried to get him to stop, to slow down, to—

He wasn't—

Satoru's orgasm tore through him and his body went limp as his vision nearly blacked out.

When he came to, he'd been situated onto his side, arms aching behind him, one leg tossed over the Santa's bicep as he continued to plow into Satoru's increasingly sensitive insides.

"You're milking me like you'd rather — ngh — die than be away from my dick, princess. You want me to cum in you, huh?" The Santa breathy words were only broken by the cacophony of each sloppy, wet-sounding thrust and the slap of their bodies. "Want me to fill you up until your stomach is swollen with my cum? Until you're pregnant and have to carry my kid."

His body felt like it was on fire. Each smack to his prostate had his still-leaking, soft cock twitching. Satoru squirmed uncomfortably in pain.

"You wanna say something?" The Santa asked, and though Satoru couldn't see his mouth, he knew the man was smirking. When the tape clearly got in the way of Satoru's blubbering words, it was brusquely ripped off his face, a trail of saliva following it. "Well go on," the man demanded, remorseless.

Satoru was too busy taking in deep gasping breaths to say anything, only managing to puncture the room with a moan following each rough thrust the man gave him.

"Look at that, too cock-dumb to even form words. What a shame. Maybe you're telling me you want to come again," As soon as the hand wrapped around his cock, Satoru's entire body flinched and hot tears started pouring from his eyes once more.

"Can't…" The word was barely audible, and it felt as though Satoru had cotton in his mouth.

"What's that? I can't hear you," A hand tightly moved over his flaccid cock, matching pace once again with the thrusts pulverizing his over-sensitive hole.

He was fully sobbing now, body raking with them, shoulders shaking, but the words were loud when he spoke them, "I—I can't ag—ain, it h—hurts, please, please."

"Oh so he does know how to beg," Despite the man's tone, his thrusts slowed to lazy punches and the hand torturing his cock stopped, instead squeezing the slowly hardening organ. "Let's hear it, beg sweetly for me."

Satoru was speechless at first, brain incoherent and unable to process the words, but when the hand on his cock threatened to move again, he needed no further introduction.

"P-please, stop, I—I can't anymore—"

"No," he was cut off, "Beg for more."

"I…" Satoru bit his lip. As if he was going to beg his assailant to keep fucking him. But then the Santa stopped moving entirely, and in a panic, Satoru feared for the worst. That he'd made the wrong move. That he'd pushed the man to his edge. That he would do something worse than simply fuck Satoru. And so, Satoru didn't have to think much before he was babbling, words tumbling from him mouth, "Please keep going. I—I want more. I'm a cock-slut, you were right. P-please—"

His begging, which had been broken up by sobs, was cut off when the man leaned down and kissed Satoru, his tongue immediately plunging into Satoru's pliant mouth. The force of the kiss hurt his shoulders too much from how his arms were being pressed beneath him and his hips ached, but as the Santa began quickly punching his own hips forward as if chasing his orgasm, Satoru found himself relaxing a little.

It would be over soon.

The man groaned into Satoru's mouth and despite himself, Satoru moaned back, the heat in his stomach churning once again. It was only made worse when the man trailed hot kisses down Satoru's neck and toward his chest, biting and tugging hard enough on his nipple that he cried out, before lapping at it with his tongue.

Then the man was lifting himself up, and Satoru could half make out his own face in the reflection of the sunglasses: fucked-out and flushed.

He could also see his wide-eyed reaction to the man's next words: "You beg so pretty but, I think a slut like you can give me one more."

"Wha—ah!" A hand was back on his cock, stroking him again and the pain and bliss was so overlapped and severe, Satoru couldn't do much else than make incoherent noises as he was worked up toward his third orgasm of the night. He twisted against the feeling but recognized a losing battle as he quickly raced toward a cliff.

"Oh god," The man moaned as Satoru came all over himself, and with one final snap of his hips, painted the inside of Satoru white with his cum.

They kept moving against each other in slow, lazy motions for a few more seconds after that, cum dribbling out of him and onto the mattress like an overflowing glass.

When they were both well-spent (and still attached), the man fell forward against Satoru, nearly crushing him under his weight.

They were breathing hard against each other, shaking with the intensity of their orgasms. Satoru's hole still fluttering with the remnants.

Small, gentle kisses were pressed to the underside of Satoru's jaw and throat, passing over the still-throbbing bite marks from earlier.

He had the urge to run his fingers through the other man's hair but considering they were entirely numb and still trapped under him — unlikely.

When their bodies finally started to cool, Satoru cleared his throat, though his voice was still too hoarse from all his screaming.

"The Santa costume was an interesting touch."

Against his collarbone, Satoru could feel the man's quiet laughter, "Thought I'd keep it festive, you know?"

With a deep exhale, the man sat up and back on his heels, bringing Satoru up in the process. The move finally separated them and Satoru grimaced, feeling the onslaught of cum pour out of him.

"Do you still have the scissors in the bedside drawer?" The man was already moving to open it.

"Nah, they're in the bathroom now."

"Shame," He stood up, flaccid shining cock still hanging out of his red pants, and made his way to the en-suite bathroom, "Could have come in handy."

"Asshole," Satoru sniped back, though it was much too jovial to be as harmful as the word intended.

When he returned, the Santa hat and beard had been removed (the cock tucked in), and he was holding two wet towels and a pair of scissors.

Satoru sat still as Suguru cut him out of the restraints and massaged feeling back into arms, accepting each apology kiss his husband gave him. He allowed the other man to gently clean the tears and snot and saliva from his face with a wet towel, before moving on to clean his thighs and between his legs.

"You're lucky the kids didn't walk in and get scarred for life by you."

Dark eyes flicked up from under lashes before turning back to their task, "I locked the door." He shrugged, "Anyway, if anything were to scar them, it'd be your moaning. Why else would I have to tape your mouth shut."

Even from his reclined position on the pillows, Satoru could see Suguru's half-hidden smirk, "Shut. Up." He reached forward and slapped his husband's shoulder before plopping back down.

Lulled by the gentle movements soothing his body, Satoru's eyes began to flutter shut, sleep and exhaustion finally ready to tug him under, but his husband's hesitant voice roused him before he could truly sleep.

"Hm?"

"I asked if you were okay."

"Oh yeah, right as rain."

"Satoru."

"Suguru." He teased back, but when he opened his eyes and saw that serious worried expression on the other man's face, he quickly dropped his own smile and tried to take the question seriously, "I'm fine, honest. Probably more than fine. That was one of the hottest things we've ever done. Given, I might have to wear a turtleneck when we see your mother tomorrow, but I'll live."

It was Suguru's turn to shove at his shoulder, and Satoru was glad at least that the response seemed to calm the man somewhat. Though, clearly not enough, based on his quiet reply, "Just don't ask me to go harder than this, next time."

His sweet, caring husband.

The truth was, Satoru would have never even asked if he didn't see how turned on Suguru got when they role played like this. It was Suguru after all that suggested it the first time.

Regardless, he knew his husband had a soft exterior persona that didn't always fit with his darker desires, and that was okay with Satoru. He'd help him find a way to comfortably match the pieces.

Leaning forward, Satoru softly kissed his Suguru — reassuring small things.

"You liked it though?" He asked against the man's lips.

"A lot," came the husky reply. Satoru felt the need to just touch the man, overwhelmed by his love for him. Nothing sexual, just a caress of cheeks with his thumbs, a soft kiss to his lips, fingers combing through hair.

In moments like these, he felt incredibly lucky to have found his soul mate so young.

The sweet moment was destroyed when Suguru moved forward to deepen their kiss, but grimaced backwards when his hand landed in a large wet spot.

"We should change the sheets," he said as he examined the bed beneath them as if it were a field with active mines.

"You should change the sheets, I think. After how cruel you were to me."

Suguru tsked and rolled his eyes, "You always do this. You tell me to go harder, be meaner, stop being so nice, and then use those puppy eyes to make me do all the clean up."

"Yeah, but you like it."

A sigh, "Yeah, I do." Then, "Go take a shower while I fix everything."

"But its late. It's like 3am." He whined.

"Yeah, well you smell like cum and sex."

"In a sexy way?"

"No," then, as Satoru was getting up to leave, he was tugged back down into his husband's orbit where a kiss and a few words were pressed to his head, "Yes. Now, go already."

Satoru needed no further invitation. He skipped to the bathroom and groaned at the delicious feel of hot water sluicing over his sore body. Sitting down tomorrow would be a chore but a worthwhile one.

When five (or ten (or fifteen)) minutes passed by, Satoru was dried, dressed and under the fresh covers. He wasted no time pressing against Suguru's side and moving just so until his head was resting over the other man's heart. Its rhythmic beating a familiar sort of soothing.

A hand easily tangled in his hair and gently pet at the sore scalp there, pausing only to press a kiss amongst the strands.

The lights were flicked off and with his last coherent thought, Satoru remembered to ask, "How did you get in so early, I thought you weren't landing until 5?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Mm," Satoru hummed, "It was a nice surprise. Happy old anniversary, Suguru."

"Happy old anniversary, Satoru."

Not for the first time in his life, Satoru was woken up (quite rudely) by a child scurrying into his bed and accidentally kicking vital organs on his way.

When he opened his eyes, it was to find that he was still curled around Suguru, and that two greedy dark blue eyes were staring down at him.

"Wake up." The surly one demanded.

"It's Christmas!" Tsumiki sang.

"Five more minutes," Satoru mumbled, peeking his eye open just enough to see the clock read 6:11am.

Fantastic.

Any sleep he hoped to achieve was disrupted when both kids took hold of his shoulder and began to shake him, demanding he wake up so they could open presents because Santa had come! They were finally forced out of bed when Tsumiki jumped onto their bodies and kneed Suguru in the groin, causing them both to accept the loss.

They were just getting out of bed and dressed in their sweatpants to ward off the morning chill, when Megumi demanded, "Why is Santa's jacket in your room?"

Both adults turned toward the aforementioned jacket (slung over a chair in the corner of the room where they normally threw laundry) and then back to each other with wide eyes.

"Uhm, he… got lost on the way." Satoru explained, glad the last three years of parenting had made him an expert on-the-spot liar. Though, he did nearly lose it when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Suguru nodding sagely in agreement.

Somehow, the kids believed them.

Either that or they were too excited about presents to care.

(Most likely the latter).

Either way, the rest of their morning was spent making coffee and a big pancake breakfast as they opened presents.

To nearly everyone's surprise, Megumi immediately burst into tears upon seeing his two new puppies, burying his snot into their fur as he hugged their squirming bodies close.

Tsumiki did not have nearly as drastic of a reaction to her gifts, but hugged both of her parents in thank you at the art supplies she got.

Suguru received a homemade paper tie and some Bic pens (as well as a nice suit from Satoru). And Satoru received homemade coupons and an accordion folder (as well as a new necklace and a beautiful pair of sunglasses from Suguru).

At least, those were the presents they opened in public.