A Late Christmas Gift

Finally shoving the last of his teetering friends through their front door, Rick washed his hands of the inevitable hangovers they'd earned for being lushes and resolved to ignore any stories he might hear of a night spent hovering over a bucket. Already midnight and the only reason he hadn't been stuck driving back and forth for another hour was the fact that Sally had chosen to stay in John's bed for the night; how much sleep they would end up with was debatable. None of the half dozen of them seemed to understand just how much blackmail material Rick would have if he were the sort to have his camera up the whole party.

Another Christmas passed as the clock ticked into the next day and it seemed he'd be single again into the new year. He thought he would have gotten over it by age thirty, but the pity date from last year awakened a desire his teenage self would call him a moron for having. The same woman had a boyfriend this year, so Rick couldn't ask again even if his pride would allow it, and he would instead get plenty of sleep while everyone else counted down. It hadn't been a nice date, either; she stayed for a single kiss at midnight and left without another word.

At least the traffic on the way home wasn't horrible. Those who drank themselves into a stupor seemed to have made their way home without too many flashing lights, or fallen where they still lay. The concept of sleeping face-down in someone else's carpet, splitting headache on the way, was never appealing to Rick, so his friends instead put him in the position of cab driver/babysitter on the evenings they couldn't be bothered to take care of themselves. He grit his teeth and drove with his nice, warm bed in mind; working himself up to a froth never helped anything.

This was the way he knew it would go well in advance. The only sign of the holidays in his life was the box of fudge sitting on his counter, sold in a box mimicking wrapping paper which hadn't seemed so pathetic at the time.

He wouldn't even eat it that day. Sleep had to come first, then he had a whole day off in the morning, since the boss knew most of the team would be useless if he had them come in that week.

Which meant Rick could get one over on all of them by working his ass off at home, leading into a new year where he didn't have to break his back with paperwork for a good week or so. Probably more, as the constant interruptions of the office would be safely away and he could simply focus on the job at hand.

Climbing the stairs rather than risk meeting lovers in the elevator like the year before, he smelled something delectable. He thought one of his neighbors must have made actual food instead of subsisting on beer and crackers like his friends had. Maybe he would eat some of that fudge after all, since a glass of water and a handful of crackers in the face of a home-cooked meal seemed inadequate.

It had to be Miss Thompson, as the woman living on the other side would at best be shoving instant noodles down her gullet. Rick thought that the old gal had gone off to the country for the day to visit with her kids, but the smell of ham didn't lie and it was absolutely coming from their floor, getting stronger as he approached his own apartment.

Taking a final sniff of the good life and tempering his expectations, Rick turned, opened his front door, and was smacked in the face with a bouquet of aromas that sent his mind back to Christmas dinner with mom and dad.

Rick shut the door. Wrong apartment, he thought. But when he checked the address, expecting to be on the wrong floor somehow, he was met with the very same number he saw every day. He considered calling the cops, but wanted to know the actual situation before making that decision. So, flicked-open pocket knife in hand, he pushed the door open again.

"Aren't you coming in?" A slender, bright-eyed young woman in an apron and a horribly ugly holiday sweater three sizes too large, only bare leg showing underneath its hem, was standing in the entryway. She giggled, fluffy blonde locks bouncing around peaked ears, and took Rick by the hand, gently tugging him inside. "Come on, silly, it's nice and warm. I have a fire going that's the perfect size for snuggling and supper just came out of the oven."

Ah, so a crazy person broke in. At least they...

"Fire!?" Rick pulled himself out of her grasp and ran inside, desperately trying to remember where he kept the extinguisher. But he stopped when he saw what she really meant: his television was showing a video of a fireplace and putting out the smooth jazz version of a Christmas carol while a heater stationed below it provided heat along with what looked like a genuine bearskin rug.

Tittering followed as the girl joined him. "I am sorry I couldn't have a real one tonight, but there was no fireplace so this is the best I could do. Now, let's get you fed while it's nice and piping hot and then we can open presents."

A glance around the room revealed a small pine tree, dazzling with ornaments and laden with expertly-wrapped boxes underneath. Rick's dining room table held more food than it ever had before and glimmered with candlelight that danced gleefully as the girl dimmed the lights and retrieved the last item from the oven, coming around with a ceramic dish of bubbling, hot food to finish off the spread. She pulled a chair out for him to sit, pouting when he declined.

"What is this and who are you?" Rick discreetly tucked his knife away, it wouldn't be difficult to throw a slight thing like her out without it.

She hung up her apron in the kitchen and grinned back at him. "Christmas dinner for my sweetie, of course. I have green bean casserole, honey-baked ham, gratin potatoes, and two kinds of pie. I know you don't like sweet potatoes, so those are out. Oh, and a surprise dessert too, for later. It'll start getting cold soon, so why don't I make you a plate? Though I suppose we'll have plenty of leftovers to get fat on."

While she scooped things up, Rick considered his plan of action. The way she bounced to a beat, humming along with the television, the points of her ears held the rhythm, and he wondered how they were held on so well. Spirit gum?

Rick reached out and tugged on one of the girl's ears. She yelped, tightening up so as not to drop the plate, and asked him with a tremble in her voice, "Sweetie, please don't."

When he released her, she set his place at the table and did the same for herself. He went with her for the moment and took his seat.

"Merry Christmas, my sweet one. While you were away, Santa came along and dropped off a bunch of presents for you. I thought you would like the surprise and we could eat first before talking, but I guess I crossed a line, haven't I?" She quietly poked at a pile of green bean casserole, watching his fork with great interest. It seemed important to her, and what chance was there that the food wasn't edible, so Rick put a bite of ham in his mouth, the girl brightening up as he started to eat.

Not only was it not inedible, it had to be one of the most delicious things he'd had the pleasure to shove in his face. Mom's cooking, with its nostalgic advantage was still blown out of the water, and Rick felt sorry that he would never get to taste this for the first time again. With that, he tried to savor what was left, but too soon it was all gone and the girl was carrying out a plate of apple and chocolate pie with ice cream on the side. This too didn't last and something about her constant giggling as he enjoyed her food warmed him inside in a way he couldn't very well describe.

It was a wonder he wasn't crying by the end.

As he finished the last bite of chocolate pie, she wrapped herself around his neck from behind, softness and warmth pressing into his back and fluffy, blonde hair tickling his cheek. "Messy boy~" she said, and leaned forward to smooch a crumb off his cheek. Before Rick could object, as little as he was inclined to, she had already slipped away to put dishes in the sink and his back felt uncomfortably cold with her absence.

"That was pretty good... amazing actually." Rick said, "But seriously, who are you? Did one of my friends hire you or something?" He dismissed the idea. "No, my mother? She's one of the only people with a key to my place. Unless it was the landlady?"

The girl stretched in the warm air with a luxurious moan escaping peachy lips, the neck of her overlarge sweater spilling over a shoulder, exposing so much wan skin underneath that it was impossible for her to be wearing anything underneath. She curtsied, at least there were shorts underneath the sweater. "I'm an elf!" she proclaimed, "Didn't you hear me? Santa came by because you were such a good boy and we set all this up for you. Well, not to toot my own horn, but I set it up, Santa brought presents. I'm Sugarbell, and I'm here to make your Christmas wish come true!"

She'd taken a pose as if there should be celebratory confetti shooting out and stood there in awkward silence.

Rick sighed, so it was a crazy chick after all. "Okay, miss elf, why don't you get out of here before I have to call the police. How did you get in here anyway?"

"Magic?" Sugarbell looked crestfallen, her ears drooping. "And lockpicks... I mean, that's what elf magic typically is; I've had decades to practice after all. It was actually good luck that your neighbor was on vacation because I didn't expect you wouldn't have a baking dish for the casserole and I didn't want to overload the sleigh."

"You're not giving me a good argument not to call the police. Can you at least take off the fake ears so we can really talk about this?"

"Fake? Sweetie, I said I was an elf after all. Is that what the problem is? In that case, I do have something that could help with that." She skipped over to a green sack by the door and plucked out a wrinkled, yellowed piece of paper. "Ahem, 'Dear Santa, I've been a good boy all year if you don't count that stuff that my sister says and all I really want is a girlfriend.' and then there's a colored pencil drawing of a girl with black pigtails who I think is your crush. 'It's okay if I don't get one, I know that's asking for a lot, but it doesn't look like mom and Dave are going to be able to give out lots of toys this year, so don't worry about it if you can't. Merry Christmas. BTW I'm making snickerdoodles this year, so make sure you grab your share before Dave can steal them all again.' and there's your signature."

She handed the letter over for inspection. It was definitely his handwriting, his drawing skills from almost two decades ago...

"So you were sent by my mother. You could have just said that and we'd have been fine. Sorry, she's pushy but I know she means well... should have told me I'd have company and I would have skipped that party. Anyway, what's your actual name?"

"Sugarbell. And I wasn't sent by her, Santa brought me. Here, look." She tugged on her ear, leaning up so Rick could look closely. It was either real or the seam of the rubber was so well hidden that it might as well be. "I suppose this would be a little hard to believe for an adult. Sorry, I haven't actually spoken with a human for a few years."

Rick shook his head. "Your makeup's good, I'll give you that."

"Seems you still don't believe me, huh? Then here." She handed over a bundle of lockpicks taken out from who knew where and strolled outside with an impish grin, saying as she closed the door, "Now lock it and see if I can't magic my way inside."

He wasn't going to give her an easy time of it, whatever her plan was, and turned the lock, the deadbolt, and put up the chain. Even if she had another set of picks hidden someplace, it wouldn't help against all of that. Then he watched, dumbfounded, as the chain wiggled out of its place, the deadbolt turned on its own, and the knob turned. Sugarbell pushed the door open, threw herself against Rick and locked her fingers behind his back, though he didn't push her away like she must have expected. By its own weight, the door closed and left the two alone in the dimness of the entry hall.

"See?" she said, nuzzling her chin into his chest, "I didn't even need the picks in the first place because this building doesn't have very good locks. I'll speak with the building manager soon about getting one that's more secure. Or maybe commission one from the workshop."

"So that crazies don't break in while I'm out?" Rick angled his hips so the elf wouldn't notice a certain reflex to her melding to his shape. She was incredibly soft in his arms, just short of purring, the smell of peppermint coming off as she rubbed against him.

Sugarbell stared up at him, her wide, green eyes shining with reflected candlelight. "But I'm not a crazy. I..."

The oven timer cut her off and she clicked her tongue in disappointment, reluctantly disengaging the hug to go deal with dessert. When Rick came around the corner, she had opened the oven door and seemed content with the contents. She left it open for things to cool and went to the bearskin rug in front of the television, so big for the room that it bunched up against the walls in that corner, took a seat and patted the place beside her for him to take.

Convinced enough by the magic show at the door, Rick sat next to her in front of the fake fire. She rested her head against his shoulder and twined her fingers in his with no resistance.

"Umm..." he said, "You got me, I guess, but what is all this?"

"It's a little embarrassing," she said, "You see, back when we got that letter, we were using a new kind of mail bag and, as we would soon find out, letters would sometimes get caught in the seams. And the elf in charge of distributing letters wasn't especially conscientious. Rather than going through the trouble of digging out the trapped ones as he knew there would be, they instead ended up in a pile in the corner of the sorting room. It wouldn't have been that much of a problem, aside from that one elf's termination we would have just sorted through when we found the pile and spread out what good will we could. But then we arrived at your letter."

"I mean, I was a dumb kid. It's not something I would ask for these days."

Sugarbell airily giggled, her cheek burned against his arm. "Sweetie, that wasn't the problem. We get so many requests for things like that; puppies, little brothers or sisters, a bunch-a edgy ones for weapons. Usually, we'd plan on whatever we could. Are the parents getting a pet? Is someone pregnant or likely to be? If not, a stuffed animal or baby doll would do the trick, and plastic weapons are wholesome enough as it is. The trouble came in an unfortunate fact: you were in the top hundred of the nice list that year."

"First of all, I don't believe you, but why would it be an issue?"

"Top hundred and a random assortment on top of that get their wish, period. According to our records, you didn't submit one... had we known what you wanted, we couldn't very well kidnap someone and brainwash them, but we absolutely could have an elf facilitate a meet cute and stick around to help out a burgeoning romance. Of course, we didn't find your letter in the pile until this year. It wouldn't do for us to get off with as light as a card and a toy anymore, so here I am." Sugarbell hugged his arm tightly to her chest and kissed his cheek. "I'm your present this year. Sorry it took so long for your wish to come true."

Rick reeled from the stream of revelations, not the least of which being that Santa was a real guy. And here was an eager, adorable, blonde thing clinging to him, unwittingly giving him quite the show as her sweater's wide neck dipped down with her promised land hiding behind a tantalizing, flickering shadow. He averted his eyes, hoping she couldn't feel his heart going crazy through his palm, but her puckish smile said that she knew very well the effect her supple, inviting cuddliness was having.

He paused. "So Santa just gave me one of his elfs? What, did you draw the short stick?"

"We're not slaves, you know. It's a career." Sugarbell sidled into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. There was no way she couldn't feel the toy soldier poking her thighs from below. "Upon discovery of your letter, several of us thought that we could still make your wish come true, so we put out a call for volunteers. I won." Before he could respond, she leaned into him, rocking him onto his back while she straddled; her warm, green eyes glittering in the false firelight on the tv as she came in for a transient peck on the lips. Then she teased him by hopping up and padding over to the kitchen.

From where he lay, Rick watched her pull a tray from the oven and came back to the fire to kneel beside him.

He asked, "People volunteered to be with me?" It was hard to imagine even two women fighting over him.

Sugarbell frowned like she knew this conversation was going to happen sooner or later and could no longer be postponed. "Fifty girls and ten guys entered the pool. We played rock paper scissors for the position and I won the tournament. Of course... if you don't want me, I'm sure we can drop someone else off for you; any one of them would love to take my place."

"I just can't believe it." Rick sat up and drew her into his arms, sitting her on one leg so the soldier couldn't get in the way. It seemed that she prepared to be rejected at this point, and he'd said so much to make her think he would, threatened to have her removed by the authorities after all. "It's a lot to take in, you know? How the heck was I in the top hundred? I don't remember doing anything especially great. Why not give my place to one of those prodigies out saving the rainforest or whatever?"

She'd relaxed in his arms, nestled into the crook of his shoulder and curled in her slender legs. "We take lots of factors into consideration. Most of the ones you're talking about are going to be rewarded in their own way, or they're doing what good they do because it fulfills what their parents want from them, and some of them just want attention. Even now, you don't believe that you deserve something nice, so you tried to push me away."

"And I thought you were a home invader."

"Nuh-uh." She wiggled herself up until her lips touched his earlobe and whispered, "It's only home invasion when the owner doesn't want you there. Who laid out milk and cookies? Wasn't that you?"

Her nuzzling and shimmying had tugged the overlarge neck of her sweater so far down across one shoulder that she was in danger of revealing herself from just the swell of her breast with every breath, not that it seemed she would mind. Sugarbell wagged her pert butt in his lap, her fingers wandered underneath his sweatshirt and sweetly tugged at the shirt underneath when she found it was tucked in. The same breath which raised her chest came to him as a cool breeze on his neck.

She said, "Tell me, what's the one thing you've always wanted to do, that you couldn't without a girlfriend?" One corner of his undershirt came free from his jeans.

It was too fast, Rick hugged her tighter, trapping her hands to squirm uselessly against his belly. He grabbed her sweater and pulled the neck back off her shoulder, saving her from the risk of exposure. Giggling wildly, she plunged her hands under his sweatshirt and tickled his armpits without mercy until it was just too much to bear and Rick fell, holding in forced laughter, onto his back.

But it didn't end, Sugarbell seized the moment of weakness and took hold of the sweatshirt's hem, pulling the whole thing up above his head in a smooth motion and trapping his arms in a cottony prison. She laid herself over his chest and at last succeeded in untucking his shirt. His bulge rested against the pleasant warmth of her thigh, rubbed against it with her subtle motions.

Eagerness burned in her rosy cheeks. Her downy, golden hair fell around their faces, dividing them from the world, but a few deep breaths later, her giggling petered out and she rolled off, spending the last of her laughter beside him on the floor.