Mr And Mrs Claus

"For the lack of a better word, you look... sexy," Mark's cheeks turned a deep shade of red the second the word left his mouth. He knew it was the wrong word for any son to direct at their mother. But deep down, Mark knew he truly meant it. "S-Sorry, it was the first thing that popped into my head."

Lucy stood up with a soothing smile, closing the gap between them as she wrapped her hands around his waist, sliding her nails across the faux leather belt, the rise of her new heels brought her almost level with Mark. "It's okay, Marky, you've always been the most honest out of the three of you. I can always rely on you to say the right thing when I need it most."

"Yeah, that usually ended with me being called a snitch by James and Anthony," Mark muttered, his heart rate quickened as he looked into his mother's twinkling eyes, "it didn't really do me any favours."

"Perhaps not with your brothers, but I've always appreciated it. Besides, it's just the two of us here for now, we don't need to overly cautious with what we say," Lucy craned forwards and placed her ruby lips upon Mark's, leaning into his arms.

Their kiss lasted just a few seconds, but it was by far the most thrilling sensation that Mark had ever experienced, making him wish dearly that it didn't need to come to a close so soon. Just before Mark's tongue threatened to breach his mother's full lips to meet hers, Lucy stepped backwards and brushed her dress down, appearing more flustered than Mark had ever seen her.

"Sorry, I think all this excitement is making me get a little carried away," she said, forcing a calm expression onto her clearly flushed face. "It's been quite a strange morning."

Mark brushed her arm comfortingly. "It's Christmas, mom. We all get a bit more excited than usual, don't worry about it. I'm just looking forward to dinner."

"It's nice having a man around the house again. Well, the cottage at least. Who knows what could happen?" Lucy suggested with a hint of fliration in her voice. Turning sharply, her new heels clicked against the hard wood floor as she headed to the kitchen, leaving a bemused Mark to ponder her words.

~•~•~•~•~•~

Mark spent the rest of the morning touching up the last of the decorations around the cottage, moving a step ladder he had found stuffed away in a closest beneath the staircase around the room, using it to arrange some of the foil tinsel he found in the box his mother had brought with them on the journey. The extra weight of the costume made the job trickier than it needed to be, but Mark was determined to not be too distracted to finish off.

He had done his best to keep his mother's spirits up, glad that his gift had managed to bring a pearly white smile to her beautiful face. The addition of the extra decorations also went a long way to helping to boost the festive spirit within the cottage, with Mark even going through the effort of hanging up some of the stockings along the top of the fireplace that his mother had kept saved from when he and his brothers were kids, each of which displayed their names rendered in glitter.

After the initial euphoria of the morning's events, along with the nostalgic joy that their time opening each other's presents had brought, both Mark and his mother had spent the hours following it separated from one another, leaving Mark doing everything he could to not focus on the kiss. Ever the dab hand in the kitchen, Mark knew that he likely wouldn't see an appearance from his mother until she felt that the dinner had been finished to perfection. As Mark carefully applied each decoration to its designated spot, he could occasionally pick up the sweet aroma of the food in the kitchen beyond, from the crisp smell of the gently roasting turkey, to the scent of the various side dishes and vegetables.

Despite trying his best to keep his Santa costume on, the work of putting up the last remaining decorations soon took its toll on him, with the heat caused by the padded jacket and thick red hat becoming a little too much for him to bear in the end. He shrugged off most of the festive outfit, leaving him in a thin white t-shirt and his fluffy red pants, held up by a pair of fake leather suspenders. It took a good few hours before he was finally satisfied with his work, taking a few bites of the tray of cookies left in front of the fireplace to take a few moments to admire his work.

"Mark?" his mother's melodic voice called, opening the door leading to the kitchen to stick her head through. "All done?"

"Looks like it," Mark nodded, giving her the invitation to see for herself, "but I might need a second opinion."

"You're looking for a critical eye?" his mother asked playfully, stepping back into the living room, folding her arms as she looked around. "Well, I'm afraid I may be a touch biased. After all, I am somewhat related to the man responsible for this creation."

"Oh, are you?" Mark smirked back, stretching his arm out, wrapping it across her shoulders, content with simply absorbing the hasty attempt at creating the warm Christmas environment they both sought. "Well, he must be quite something, to put all this together on such short notice."

"He most certainly is," she replied, slipping her hand into is, gently running her finger across his palm, "he's got a way of cheering me up like no other. And he bought these sexy new heels for me. Sexy being his own choice of description. But I personally think he just likes the way they make my legs look. But don't tell him that."

"I won't," Mark coughed out, turning a shade of red not too far from the colour of his baggy pants. "But you do like it?"

"No, I love it, sweetheart," she replied, lifting a finger to the base of Mark's chin, turning his head towards her to plant a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a perfect red print of her soft, full lips. "Dinner is just about ready, just give me about five minutes to get the finishing touches ready. Is that alright?"

"Absolutely," Mark replied enthusiastically, "take all the time you need. I don't want to spoil all your work, mom."

"Thank you, Mark," she hit him with her most charming smile, with her golden hair whipping across her shoulders as she left his embrace and turned away, swinging her hips in a not-so subtle fashion as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Mark waited in anticipation, with his eyes darting between the antique grandfather clock positioned at one of the corners of the living room, and the peaceful scene that occupied the window looking out to the front of the property. The snowfall had only increased since the morning, with Mark even struggling to make out the mail box that sat next to the short picket fencing running along the front garden. If there was one thing he could conclude, it was the fact that there was quite literally no way that either of them could get out. For all intents and purposes, he was stuck with his mother for the rest of the evening, along with the night ahead.

Once the five minutes was up, Mark tidied himself up and strolled towards the kitchen, pushing the door open gently. His senses were immediately rewarded with the scene that met him. Almost the full length of the dining table was covered with a platter of food, with an assortment of bowls containing small nibbles and sides running parallel with the main course that sat at the very centre. The turkey looked exquisite to Mark, possessing a masterfully browned off appearance that spoke volumes about his mother's precision, with a thin layer of steam rolling off the bird, basted in a way that caused Mark to salivate just by the sight alone.

He looked up and found his mother stood next to the table, with a small white apron covering her festive outfit. She held out a hand and waved it across the table, lighting the candlesticks as she looked back at Mark with a hopeful twinkle in her blue eyes.

"So, will this do?" she inquired, setting out the final few bowls.

"Will it do?" Mark laughed, all to ready to dig in. "Mom, this is incredible! I thought that you might go for something a little more restrained."

"I considered it," his mother agreed, tapping her nails against the wooden back of one of the chairs lining the table, "but I just couldn't handle the thought of not giving it my all. I know it's too much for just the two of us, but this is the first real Christmas we've had in God knows how long."

"It's perfect," Mark replied, taking the seat at one end of the table. "I mean it."

"Wait!" Mark froze in mid-air, watching as his mother approached him with an elongated fork and a carving knife, holding them out for him to take, giving him a look of pride as she pointed a finger at the still steaming turkey. "Technically speaking, Mark, you're the man of the house. Would you care to carve the turkey?"

Mark stared down at the utensils, then up at the turkey as his mother pushed the foil dish holding it towards him, close enough for him to reach. A sudden nervous tremor struck him. For as long as he could remember, the time that his family did manage to make for the festive season always had his father as the patriarch, the one whose duty it was to carve the first slice and dish it out. But he couldn't ignore the fact that his mother was right in a way, without his older brothers present, and with his father on the other side of the country with one of his latest girlfriends, the responsibility rested upon his shoulders.

Blowing out a small breath, Mark leaned across the table and placed the knife against the turkey, keeping his hand as steady as possible as he slowly carved into it, slicing off a thick piece as the knife travelled downwards. With the first slice prepared, he kindly picked it up with his fork and deposited it on his mother's plate, again experiencing an unfamiliar sensation as she offered him an endearing smile.

With the micro-fast broken, the couple took their respective seats at both ends of the table, using a set of tongs to grab whatever caught their attention, piling up their plates with a modest mountain of food. They settled in for the Christmas dinner, taking part in a light hearted conversation, catching up as jovially as they could.

Mark relayed to her the events of his time at college, discussing the different topics that came up over the first few months of his time there. He spotted the deep interest in her vivid blue eyes, the way her golden hair bounced gracefully as she nodded along to his words, listening intently to each and every detail. He found himself almost getting lost in her sapphire eyes, observing the way they lit up at even the smallest pieces of information.

It was one of the first times where he could sit back and view his mother as a completely different woman, treating her almost like a partner, willing to listen to and share different bits of information that might have bordered on being a touch intimate. Looking at her from an almost impartial perspective, Mark could easily describe her as being a woman who possessed a breath taking beauty. Her face had a perfect symmetry, her soft lips continually parted into a stunning smile that could make his heart flutter in a flash.

He couldn't hide the embarrassed look on his face as the topic turned towards his love life at college. He deflected every attempt to pry into the relationships he had, though he would hardly call a few dates that didn't lead to sex much of a relationship. With a coy expression, his mom reassured him that he would make some headway over the rest of the year, reasoning that if his brothers could be prolific womanizers, then he had it in him to do the same.

The old grandfather clock chance chimed as seven o'clock ticked around, just in time to mark the end of dinner. Despite the table still being absolutely packed out with food, the pair were far too stuffed to even remotely consider taking yet another bite. Mark in particular severely regretted going in for a second helping of the seasoned potatoes, but just couldn't prevent himself from giving in to the temptation.

Mark was more than happy to return to the living room and collapse onto the old couch, giving his mother time to saran wrap the food that remained untouched, tucking it away in the large refrigerator for the eventual arrival of his brothers. He made it half way through one of the countless Christmas movies airing on television before his mother returned, looking slightly worn out as she joined him on the couch, crossing her legs at the ankle as she snuggled up close to Mark.

"What are you watching?" she asked, placing a hand against her mouth to muffle a yawn.

"A Christmas Story," Mark replied, removing the suspenders from his shoulders, glad to have the literal weight lifted from his shoulders, "but I missed the first twenty minutes."

"I love this movie," she lit up, stroking Mark's lap adoringly as she watched along, the effect of which occurred immediately, "I remember watching this when I was just a girl. It seems like such a long time ago now."

"It's alright I guess," Mark replied lightly, shifting his hips as casually as he could, trying to hide the hard-on that began to press against the cheap pants, hoping his mom was distracted enough by the movie to notice.

"Brrrr, it's getting a bit chilly," his mom announced, rubbing her hands along her upper arms, "you wouldn't mind getting a fire going, would you? I've tried getting the radiators to turn on, but I guess the pipes in this place weren't made to withstand the cold."

"Sure thing," Mark leapt up, glad to break contact for a short while.

He knelt down to open up the chimney, grabbing a fire lighter from the mantle, wedging it beneath the stack of logs. Picking up a poker from the rack, Mark made cautious jabs at the pile, helping to guide the flourishing flames along. It took a few failed attempts before he found success, observing as the flames spread rapidly, engulfing the log pile within minutes. Setting the poker back down, he turned back around, only to find his mother standing upon the plush rug, with the tv remote in her hand.

"Mom? What are you up to?" Mark inquired, beginning to wonder if she had been right about his true reason for selecting his main gift for her as his eyes briefly flicked down to her legs.

With a few short clicks of the remote, she came to a stop on one of the channels that allowed for televised broadcasts of the local radio stations. Suddenly, a slow moving piece of music filled the room, one that saw his mom slowly swaying her body in sync with the tune.

"Well, I have to break these new heels in, and it's been so long since I've actually had a strapping man to be my dance partner," she replied with a devious smirk, tossing the remote back onto the couch. "So why not merge the two together? Unless you're too full from dinner to move more than a few steps?"

"Alright, but just for one song. I'm worried that these pants might fall down with even the slightest movement," Mark agreed, groaning as he pushed off of his knees and back to his feet, "plus these boots are killing me."

"I'm sure you'll cope with some of the slower numbers," she said, holding her hands out to Mark.

He took his mom's hands in his own, awkwardly shuffling to the rhythm, doing his best to keep a distance between them. Even when he was encouraged to draw closer, with his mom going as far as lightly tugging him by the hands, Mark couldn't quite cross the line that ventured into far more intimate territory. Frustrated by his reluctance by the end of the first song, his mother decided to bring him out of his shell.

"Mark, I feel like I'm trying to dance with a statue," she scolded, raising a golden eyebrow out of curiosity. "You're not worried about getting fresh with me, are you?"

"Of course not, it's just... " Mark started, looking away, feeling the sense of desire rising once again, "I don't want to feel like I'm crossing a boundary here, mom."

"Tell you what," she clapped her hands together, with her blue eyes twinkling as an idea formed in her mind. "Why don't you try to imagine me as being anyone other than your mom?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're holding back because you keep thinking of me as a mother," she elaborated, "so the solution is simple. Just think of me as Lucy. I'm the beautiful, slightly older woman you've found yourself trapped in this old cottage with, and we're just trying to find a way of helping the time fly by. Now, keep that idea in your mind and see if it helps."

Lucy grabbed Mark's hands once again and pulled him back towards her, encouraging him to break his previous boundary, until they were barely inches apart. She guided his hands over to her narrow waist, smiling once she felt the friction against her body, along with the lightest of squeezes. By the time the pair relaxed into their new stance, a new soft piece of music emanated from the speakers of the television. With a degree of trepidation, Mark began to move in unison with his mom, eventually being forced to take the lead with some prompting, guiding their movement across the rug, careful to prevent his feet from accidentally stepping on his mother's toes.

It took a few minutes for him to build up his confidence, but Mark quickly found himself doing just as his mom had asked of him, simply viewing her as a different woman entirely, one that looked undeniably eye catching in her outfit. He let the music sweep them both along, pressing his body close to Lucy's, until he could feel her warm breath wash against his neck, something that only added to the unfamiliar feeling building within him.

Once they had made it almost six songs deep, the couple were firmly locked in step with one another, twisting and swaying without needing any prompting or subtle forms of incitement. Mark felt his chest swell when his mom's hand brushed against his thigh, running up to his shoulder. His cock expanded without warning, growing hard enough for Mark to feel it pressing against Lucy's thigh, with the shame of it hammering away at Mark.

However, instead of making a comment or making light of the unusual development, Lucy chose to shift her body ever so slightly, enough to align the prominent bugle jutting out from Mark's velvet pants with her own mound. Mark gulped heavily, feeling his hard on being almost enveloped by the poofy red skirt, with the only thing shielding their loins being a few, thin pieces of material.

It wasn't long before the couple took yet another plunge, one that would mark the moment where their relationship changed fundamentally. Lucy angled her head to the side, just enough to let her press her luscious lips against Mark's. With the dam broken completely, the first kiss was soon followed by a second, then another, until they increased in frequency and intensity, pushing Mark to grow bold enough to finally slide his tongue into his mother's mouth, where it was met enthusiastically by hers. It wasn't long before their hands began to roam, sliding over each other's bodies, with Mark inexplicably finding his hands sneaking their way beneath his mom's skirt, settling just above the tops of her colourful stockings.

They finally separated, both taking heaving breaths, with their skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat thanks partly to the licking flames contained within the fireplace. It took a few moments before they decided to look back into each other's eyes, as if to search for any sign of what thoughts occupied their minds.

"Mom... I-I don't know what that was. I don't know what I was thinking," Mark admitted, with a sense of shame finally pouring through the wave of lust that had consumed him.

"I do," Lucy spoke up, clearly flustered by their recent actions, still holding a grip of Mark, "I told you to view me as a stranger. A woman you just happened to be snowed in with. And that's exactly what you did, you just let your body do what was natural."