A/N: Hello again, my lovelies! So... yeah, this is my Christmas drabble (horrible title and all)! I know, it's late, but I thought I posted it on Christmas Day! Obviously not, and it took me three days to notice.
Anyway, it may seem a little confusing in the beginning, but I'm sure your brilliant minds will catch on quickly. ;) It's split into quite a few pieces because the view switches from Robin to Slade throughout the entire thing... it's actually supposed to be subtly comparing the similarities of their schedules, but it's pretty much just running through the day, showing what each of our boys are doing...
So, all tardiness and idiocy aside, onto the drabble!
Ho, Ho, Ho!
The sun shone happily down on Jump City, its warmth disappearing beneath the winter's chill. A plow trundled along the street, pushing snow to the side as it followed its daily route. The snow shimmered, fluffy and glittering and wow, today was going to be a beautiful one.
Slade, however, did not agree. He awoke groggy and more than ready to climb into bed in fifteen or so hours. The bright sunlight, amplified as it reflected off the gathered snow, crept into his bedroom, seeping through the crack between his somehow-not-all-the-way-closed-even-though-he-could-have-sworn-they-were-last-night curtains and sweeping directly over his eye. Colors danced behind his closed lid, disorienting him and drawing a groan from his lips.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Slade rubbed irritably at his burning eye, wondering how the sun seemed to find him and only him this early in the morning. He sat with his head in his hands for a few moments before sighing and rising from the warm, comforting mattress.
The man made his way down the hall of his downtown apartment, hoping to get a cup of black coffee in his hands and a plate of hot breakfast in his stomach. He decided coffee was the more attractive option, so when he reached the airy, well-light kitchen, he scooped a few spoonfuls of the crushed beans into a filter and slid it into the coffeemaker. He switched it on, smiling as the machine let out a gurgling rumble.
Robin draped himself over the marble countertop, enjoying the purr of the coffeemaker, the promise of consciousness in a cup. He sighed and held his mug between his hands, eagerly awaiting the cheery ping that indicated a full coffeepot. The thick, earthy smell filled the early morning, a comfortingly warm aroma against the snow-scented chill that he knew lurked outside. Snow was rare in California, but when it did grace the the west coast with its presence, it didn't disappoint.
The teen dozed against the kitchen counter, forehead pressed to the smooth surface and ass displayed as gravity tugged his spine into a downward arc. His arms shifted, bent on either side of his head, fingers wrapped around the cool porcelain of his Superman mug and subconscious aching for the sweet sting of sugary caffeine.
The coffeemaker gave a shrill chime, startling the sleepy bird. Robin lazily grabbed the heated plastic handle and poured the coffee into his mug, smiling in satisfaction. He expertly stirred in a copious amount of sugar and vanilla creamer, mixing the caramel-brown mixture before lifting it to his lips, cradling the warm ceramic. The temperature sent goosebumps racing over his skin, his bare limbs suddenly experiencing the slightly cool air of the Tower now that his hands had a source of heat.
Having placed his mug in the dishwasher and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a muscle-shirt, Slade made his way downstairs. He had bought out the entire apartment building and emptied it so he would never be disturbed or have to worry about someone coming across his 'work'. It proved quite useful and effective as a solitary workplace when he didn't want to be found by a certain curious bird.
Slade grabbed a towel from a closet along the way to the gym, which took up most of the floor beneath his main living space. It was furnished with enough exercise equipment to suit an Olympic trainee, along with a well-sized indoor track for when he didn't feel like running on a treadmill. The remaining space was split into a small locker room and a storage space where he kept spare equipment and various small training devices.
The man tossed the towel onto the floor by the bench press before stretching a bit. He warmed up his arms and legs, working the muscles before laying back on the bench and wrapping his fingers firmly around the textured metal of the barbell.
Robin danced lightly on his toes as he tightened the athletic tape around his fingers, wrists and palms. He tied the fabric off and tugged lightly to ensure it would stay put before bending forward, pressing his hands firmly to the floor as his perky backside, clothed in a pair of black spandex shorts, swung out. He rested there for a few minutes, face between his calves, feeling the muscles along the backs of his knees and thighs loosen and warm.
Reaching upwards, his droopy grey Gotham Knights hoodie lifting to reveal a bit of his flat belly, he wiggled his fingers towards the sky before stretching to one side, then the other. The masked hero's body hummed pleasantly as he pitched forward, hands bracing against the floor as he fell into a tumble, bouncing easily to his feet.
Grinning, Robin checked the laces of his running shoes and popped his ear-buds into place. He cranked the volume of his iPod up before taking off around the Tower's indoor track.
Slade wiped the sweat from his brow, gripping each end of the white towel that hung around his neck. He was hot and more than ready for a shower, having diligently worked each muscle group before calling it quits. He had ditched his shirt long ago, but he still felt as though it was there, sticking to his sweaty skin.
The one-eyed man pushed the swinging door open and walked into the locker room, his bare feet protesting at the icy bite of the tiled floor. He dropped the sweat-dampened towel on the wooden bench as he passed, sweatpants also falling away and revealing the hard, bulging body that he so carefully worked for. His erection also sprang forth from its cloth confines, having been coaxed to life by the adrenaline that accompanied his rigorous workout.
He stepped into the shower, twisting the knob and cursing as he was drenched with freezing water. He waited a few minutes for it to warm, the shocking cold doing little to lessen his arousal. He grabbed hold of his length, giving a firm tug as the gradually heating water ran down his sun-kissed skin. He squeezed the base, the hard callouses of his fingers producing a pleasant friction that made his balls tighten with need.
Slade grunted as he bucked into his fist, imagining his sweet little bird before him, sprawled out and as ready to be taken as a two-cent prostitute. He allowed his hand to veer off track, instead moving from his bobbing cock to his heavy balls, fondling and squeezing the sac as Robin's imaginary hands took over working on his manhood.
He pictured the hero leaning in close, hot breath rolling over the engorged head of his swelling cock. His pretty lips would stretch over the velvety skin, swallowing him whole and moaning wantonly as he arched, thrusting his ass out. His hands would shift, gripping the base where his mouth couldn't reach and squeezing tightly.
Slade groaned, fisting his cock with thick fingers. He moved in long, tight strokes, foreskin folding as his digits ran over it. He prodded the slit, white pre-cum smearing over the head. He pressed his left hand to the shower wall, bowing his head as he worked furiously on his needy manhood.
"Fuuuck..." the mercenary growled into the steamy air, his balls tightening to the point where it almost hurt.
Imaginary-Robin grinned up at him, lips stained with cum and bare skin flushed from arousal and the hot water that rolled down each and every contour of his perfect body. He replaced his lips, suckling greedily at Slade's cock until the man was sure his soul was being drawn through his slit. He thrust into the warm mouth, breathing ragged and voice gravely.
Slade came silently, eye clenching closed as he shot rope after rope of creamy cum onto the shower wall. His hand continued to stroke his pulsating cock, milking himself until his balls felt as though they were the size of grapes. A few weak spurts dribbled over his fingers, and he looked at his sticky hand for a moment, wishing imaginary-Robin was still there to lick it off before sticking his hand under the shower's spray, washing it down the drain.
The white-haired man sighed in satisfaction as he stepped back under the water, his seed still dripping slowly down the tile of the shower wall.
Ruffling his damp hair with a clean towel, Robin strode down the hall towards the Tower's dorms, fantasies of a hot shower and his sweetly scented soaps present in his head. He punched in the password to his bedroom, stepping inside and feeling the light whoosh of air as it closed behind him.
His bedroom was large and well-lit, the far wall constructed entirely of glass. The wall directly across from the door was dedicated to his massive canopy bed, which Robin could swear was the best purchase of his entire life. Bruce had called it superfluous, but it was a third of his life, the boy reasoned, and he was going to spend that third in the lap of luxury. The fact was a wonderful plus for Robin, but unfortunate for his poor credit card, or more so Bruce, who payed the bills of said credit card.
Robin sighed as he shuffled into his private bathroom, lavishly decorated in black and white and decked out with a jacuzzi tub and glass-paned shower. He kicked off his shoes and socks before he stripped off his hoodie and shorts, leaving them in a trail behind him like the breadcrumbs of Hansel and Gretel. He debated between using the shower or the tub, but settled on the big shower. As much as he would have loved to soak in warm water with bath oils and bubbles, he had things to do and places to be.
The teen flicked the handle up, the shower head hissing before cool water sprayed over the black tile. He inspected himself in the mirror while he waited for the water to warm up, absently running his hands along his skin and turning around to look at his backside.
"Not bad..." Robin murmured as he squeezed the perfect, supple cheeks of his ass, appreciating it and hoping his exercise routine wouldn't shrink the comfortingly round globes. They were an important part of his man-eater charm.
The Titan leader rolled his eyes and stuck his fingers under the shower's spray, testing the temperature. After deeming the water warm enough for his tastes, he stepped inside, smiling and smoothing his bangs back from his face. He thought about how he would workout tomorrow, if he would head for the balance beams or max out the battle simulator. The simulator would be a nice change, the teen decided. He was a master in hand-to-hand combat, but there was always room for growth, especially with villains like Slade around.
Though the man was his self-declared archenemy, the thought of him made Robin's body purr with arousal. It was the combination of that massive, muscle-bound body and rich, gravely voice that drove him wild. He had spent countless nights wondering what it would be like to touch Slade. Would his hands be calloused, rough against his skin? Were his lips chapped, having been licked one too many times as he toiled over his next plot? Was his cock as big as he imagined, hard and straining against black Kevlar?
Robin bit his lip, allowing a hand to slide down his chest and belly, ignoring the softness of his fingers and pretending it was Slade's large digits. He caressed his sensitive nipples, the pink buds hardening under the careful administrations and drawing a mewl from his lips. He trailed his hands down from his nipples to his stomach, ghosting fingers over his bellybutton, the feather-light touch and excitement of what he knew would come next making the muscles beneath tremble.
The teen let out a gasp as he wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock, giving a gentle squeeze at the head before sliding downward. His other hand moved to his thigh, feeling each and every inch of the soft, flushed skin as he slid down the tiled wall to the shower floor. He rubbed and prodded until he reached his wet entrance, the ring of muscle fluttering in anticipation.
The water from the shower head fell around him, dripping down the delicate planes of his body as he felt himself, hot and tight. Robin dropped his head back against the wall as he slipped a finger into himself. One digit was nice, he knew, but two was better. A second slid in next to the first, stretching and feeling until he found that perfect spot and wow.
Robin cried out as he curled his fingers against his prostate, left hand moving steadily along the length of his leaking cock. He thrust his fingers deeper until he could reach no further, and the flustered bird felt a twinge of disappointment. He was too far into the ritual now to get up and choose a toy from the private box he kept hidden beneath his bed, so his own fingers would have to do, much to Robin's chagrin.
"Y-yeah..." the Titan leader gasped, his lashes, thick and dark from the tiny droplets that clung to them, batting as he imagined Slade inside him, huge and pulsating, balls set flush to his ass. His fingers pressed insistently against his sweet-spot, inspiring a particularly enthusiastic cry as pleasure crippled his body. "F-fuck meee..."
He could feel his climax rapidly approaching, feel himself teeter directly on the edge of oblivion, and Robin sped up his ministrations. His fingers thrust into his passage with growing desperation. His shaking hand stroked his borderline-painful arousal, pre-cum dripping over his fingers as the swollen head wept for release.
"Ngnn, S-SLADE!" Robin screamed as he arched off the tile, toes curling and eyes rolling back. His muscles convulsed around his fingers and his chest was streaked with white as he came. Pleasure tore through his veins, chasing any coherent thoughts from his head, and he fell limp.
Robin lay there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, cum being washed from his relaxed body by the gradually cooling water.
Even knowing that the pleasure was self-induced, Slade had a grin on his face. He whistled as he strolled down to the once-lobby of his complex, dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Jacking off to the image of a teenaged hero – a teenaged hero who happened to be absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, in his own defense – wasn't exactly the bee's knees, but it was as close to Robin as he could get at the moment.
Reaching the mailbox that was secured to the siding outside the front door, Slade opened the lid and glanced inside. Of course the mail wouldn't be here for a few more hours, but the newspaper was waiting for him, just delivered judging by the paperboy who was only a few buildings down. He grabbed the paper, but just as he went to close the hatch, an envelope propped against the inside of the mailbox caught his eye.
Slade frowned at the envelope, grabbing it and flipping it over in his hands as he searched for some sort of clue as to where it came from. Much to his confusion, however, there wasn't so much as a postage stamp. The smooth red paper was marked only with his name and address, written in spidery scrawl.
This had to be some sort of trap, Slade realized with a growl, and he tightened his jaw as he spun on his heel, heading straight back into the apartment complex. He locked the doors firmly behind him and marched into the elevator. He jabbed at the third floor button.
"Fuck you then, I'll get it," Robin called teasingly as he slipped into the elevator, having argued with Cyborg about who would be the one to pick up this morning's mail. They usually had a system, trading off days with one another so everybody carried their own weight, but someone had taken the wrong day at some point, and now none of the Titans were quite sure whose days were whose. Robin decided to be the mature one – he didn't count his crude language against his maturity-points – and start the system anew, claiming Saturday as his own.
Robin took the elevator to the underground garage and glided over to his beloved bike. He slipped his helmet on and straddled the metal machine, bringing it to life and feeling it purr beneath him. A wonderful feeling, he thought as he took off towards the post office, the wind causing his cape to billow out behind him, black giving way to canary-yellow every now and again.
People waved as he passed down the freshly plowed streets, many of them having their arms full with bags and boxes, no doubt finishing some last-minute Christmas shopping. Robin had completed his own, his entire closet now stuffed with gifts he had spent hours searching for, just to know he would be treating his beloved teammates to the best. Hell, he had even had to throw all his clothes out onto the floor because he couldn't get to them without causing a miniature avalanche, an experience he had no desire to repeat.
He turned the corner to the post office, slowing and sliding easily into a parking spot. The teen popped out the kickstand and pulled his helmet off, his wispy raven locks curling and flying every which-way. He hopped off his bike and set his helmet on the seat before strutting into the building, smoothing his red tunic as he went.
Robin had actually expected the post office to be more busy with people scrambling to mail packages and cards, but it was rather tame today. Only a few people were present, buying stamps and checking their PO boxes. Apparently Jump was settling down for Christmas, which was fine with the teen hero, as it made his own job easier, as well as the post office workers'.
"Good morning," Robin smiled at the young man who was standing behind the counter, obviously trying to look cool for the Titan leader as he leaned against a stack of boxes. It must have been a rather dazzling smile, though, because the poor guy ended up tripping and knocking the boxes over, nearly face-planting in the process.
"Ah, R-Robin, good morning!" he stammered, flushing in embarrassment as he jumped to his feet, looking as though he didn't just eat shit in front of a famous hero.
"Are you alright?" the masked teen exclaimed, eyes wide.
"Yeah!" the young man said, waving a hand. "Just f-fine, Robin."
"Oh, well, if you're sure..."
When Robin turned his back to the older male, his lips curled into a smirk. Just a glance at his gorgeous face and any sentient being in the vicinity was clamoring to impress him.
That's right, boys, line up.
Robin shook his head as he typed in the codes for the Titan's triple-encrypted mailbox. The security panel gave a beep of approval, allowing him to pull it open and retrieve the contents from inside. There was an armload of Christmas cards to various Titans, the majority of them for Robin himself. He preened a little at the realization.
The doe-eyed boy relocked the box and headed outside, stuffing all the envelopes, as well as a small gift box or two, into the storage compartment of his bike. He sent one last wave and flirtatious wink to the young man at the counter through the window – he mentally smirked when the flustered male could only manage a shaky wave and dopey smile back – before putting his helmet on and riding down the street.
Slade frowned as he sat back in his chair. Countless x-rays, tests, fingerprint analysis... all of it yielding no results. Whoever had left the envelope in his mailbox was smart. One, they had somehow figured out where he lived, and two, they managed to leave not a single trace of themselves on the paper.
He glared at the envelope.
Finally giving up and deciding that maybe there actually were innocent motives behind the delivery, Slade carefully peeled the lip back and peered inside. Alright, it was just a card. He opened it, seeing the same writing that was on the envelope.
He had to reread it nearly four times before he registered any of the words.
Dear Mister Wilson,
Santa requests an audience with you at eleven o'clock this evening. Be there.
That was all it read. Sixteen little words and and underlying threat to close the line. Sixteen little words that basically told him to be at the North Pole to talk to Santa.
"WHAT?" Slade shouted, chucking the card across the room. Being so light, it didn't go far, simply fluttering a few feet away, which only succeeded in pissing the man off more. He snatched it back up and crumpled it in his hand. "Somebody's a got a hell of a pair to be playing some childish prank on me."
The man grumbled to himself as he stomped back down his main living space, fuming. If the nitwit card-sender thought he was about to fly to the North Pole to meet a man that only existed in a child's imagination, then they were... well, a nitwit. As curious as he was to know who this nitwit was, he had better things to do than indulge some no-life prankster.
He tossed the card in the trash on his way out.
Robin hummed to himself as he sat on the couch, the stack of unopened mail on one side and a mixed pile of cards and torn envelopes on the other. He shuffled through a few brightly printed cards filled with generic Christmas greetings before tossing them onto the opened pile.
Now the acrobat truly appreciated the things that fans sent him, but sometimes it was easy to tell that certain people were simply trying to gain some sort of recognition from the famous hero. He was a teen idol after all, and many of his fellow teens wished to be 'something more' to him. He still wondered, though, why these gift-givers seemed to believe that they would somehow be bumped up on this imaginary list of top fans that Robin knew he didn't keep. The fifty-cent cards were nice, but he adored the hand-drawn cards written in crayon and little trinkets constructed of play-dough from children who looked up to him.
Having already analyzed the little box wrapped in metallic blue paper in his lab an hour prior, Robin read the little yellow tag tied to the silver bow. He smiled when he noticed the tag was his own R symbol, scribbled on a circle of paper. He opened the box to find a tiny version of himself made from clay and brightly painted in big, messy strokes that only made the gesturemore adorable.
Robin smiled and set it aside, standing it on the paper-littered floor by his mug of eggnog. He tossed the box to the side and set about reading the last few handfuls of holiday tributes, his gradually-growing-hungrier belly wishing for some of Alfred's amazing fudge. The sweet chocolate was absolute perfection and borderline orgasmic. It would no doubt be a welcome change when compared to his daily diet of pizza and Chinese take-out. When was the last time he had eaten a home-cooked meal?
Expression falling a bit at the thought of Bruce and Alfred sitting at the massive dining room table, feasting on golden turkey and moist stuffing and creamy mashed potatoes with gravy and stop, stop, stop. It was his first Christmas with the Titans, and Robin was determined to spend it with his beloved friends. Surviving an entire year together was something to celebrate, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do so.
Looking around himself, Robin smiled at the decorations that blanketed the Tower. Green garland and strings of popcorn were tacked up about the walls, arching and stretching around the living room. They had gone out as a team and picked out a tree together, a tall, voluptuous pine that was currently weighted down with tons of sparkling tinsel, cheerily shining lights and ornaments that Starfire had conned them into making with her. On the very top was a big gold star that shone proudly upon the piles of presents beneath the tree's hefty branches.
It was beautiful, Robin decided.
Slade didn't hate Christmas, really he didn't, but he did hate all the gaudy decorations. Inflatable snowmen, plastic reindeer, light-up Santas... the festivity of it all made him want to shoot his remaining eye out. Hell, it wasn't even the festivity that got him. Being in the Christmas spirit was perfectly fine, it was the fact that everybody seemed to lose their fucking minds and begin to rationalize that lighting their houses up enough to blind passerby cars and set vampires aflame was the only form of Christmas spirit.
Across the street, a giant Santa waved at him, its plastic face set in a rosy-cheeked grin. It would let out a hearty 'ho, ho, ho!' every now and again, making Slade cringe and sink further into the cushions of his chair. The repetitive sound barely made it through the glass of his windows, but Slade knew it was there, he knew what it was doing.
Laugh it up, you mechanical abomination...
Slade glared at the taunting decoration and took another swig of whiskey from his glass. The ice was cold against his lips, but the alcohol went down hot, a delicious burning.
"Merry Christmas..." he growled, sucking a piece of ice into his mouth and crunching it between his teeth.
The sun dipped beneath the horizon, painting the city a deep amber as the sky melted. The windows of the tall glass towers shone under the depleting light, reflecting and amplifying the rays brightly. The snow glowed orange, shimmering like miniature mountains of glitter. It was really a site to see, and it helped Slade relax a bit, the beautiful scenery distracting him from the waving Kris Kringle below.
Did Robin decorate, Slade wondered. It was quite amusing, imagining Robin sitting atop the tin-man's shoulders, pinning up long lines of tinsel. Maybe there was a big tree covered in ornaments and lights, some presents hiding underneath. Maybe the boy smelled of sugar and vanilla from baking Christmas cookies, a smear of frosting across the bridge of his button nose and flour dusting his cheeks.
He took another sip of whiskey.
Robin laughed as Starfire crowded him, happily chattering on about the wonder that was Christmas. The holiday did not exist back on her home planet of Tamaran, and Starfire herself had developed quite an impressive obsession with glitter and lights, so Christmas was perfect for her. Knowing this, Robin suggested making cookies to leave out for Santa, whom she had recently been questioning her leader about. Of course Robin did not believe in the jolly man in red, nor did Raven or Cyborg, but they had discussed it and decided that they would pretend for the sake of their two youngest members.
"It is the Eve of Christmas," Starfire exclaimed, hovering a few inches above the floor in her excitement, "so we must make the cookies of Christmas just as you said, friend Robin!"
"I know, Star," Robin said patiently, allowing her to take his hands and lift him into the air. She flew him into the kitchen, since he apparently didn't move fast enough for her. When she set him back on the ground, he tugged his emerald gloves off and instructed the girl to retrieve a few different sized bowls.
"I have never made cookies before, friend Robin," Starfire informed him as he gathered the necessary ingredients from the fridge. Robin smiled at her from over the items that filled his arms. "I am very excited!"
"I can see that," Robin replied as he stretched up to reach the jars of sugar and flour from the cupboards. Starfire floated over and took them down for him, setting them on the counter. "Alright, let's turn the oven on first."
Starfire turned the little knob, raising the temperature until it Robin signaled to stop. She flew back to the Boy Wonder's side, accepting the bowl that he handed to her.
"We'll make two batches so that we have enough for Santa with some left over for ourselves," Robin said as he set the glass jars of flour and sugar between their bowls. "You need one and a half cups of sugar." He showed her the little numbers on the handle of the measuring scoops, explaining that each held a different amount.
"I do not use these," Starfire commented as they each dumped their sugar in their bowls. "I just look and use what is needed." She broke into a wide smile before adding, "I like this better."
"I guess too," Robin said. He had given her the measuring scoops, while he himself used his hands to estimate the amount. "I used to bake so much with my mother," Starfire listened intently, as it was a very rare treat for Robin to speak of his past and family, "so I've gotten really good at using my eyes instead of measuring cups."
Robin grabbed a stick of butter to show the alien the little lines that divided the wrapper and indicated how much the stick was worth. As he helped her count and measure out a cup of butter, Beast Boy wandered into the kitchen, having followed the smell of vanilla.
"Are you guys making cookies?" he asked as he peered over Robin's shoulder, sniffing at the bowl of sugar and butter. "Can I help?"
"Sure," Robin said, and Starfire nodded enthusiastically as Beast Boy grinned. "The more the merrier!"
"What can I do?"
"Here..." Robin grabbed the jar of flour, along with the cans of baking soda and baking powder. "Measure out three cups of flour and a teaspoon of these."
Beast Boy happily did as told while Robin hopped up onto the counter, settling his bowl in his lap. He showed Starfire how to beat the sugar and softened butter together before he handed her an egg. He grabbed her hand and helped her crack it over the edge of her bowel before dropping it inside, along with a splash of vanilla extract.
"Now mix it," Robin said, moving his hands in short, quick motions. "You have to be kinda rough with it, but be careful not to break the bowl." There had been an incident or two where he had neglected to tell the Tamaranian this, and it had cost them a few new sets of dishes.
Raven wandered into the room and took a seat at the island, setting her book on the countertop. She didn't interrupt, as it appeared the three younger Titans had everything under control, so she just sat and read, enjoying the warmth and sweet scents of the kitchen.
"What about this?" Beast Boy held his bowl above his head.
"Mix it on in." Robin waved him over, and he and Starfire emptied both their bowls into Beast Boy's bigger one.
"Can we cut them out now?" the green teen asked excitedly, and, at Robin's nod, scrambled to gather the cookie-cutters from the cupboard above the oven.
Cyborg joined his teammates just as they broke out the frosting and sprinkles. He sat next to the silently reading Raven, avoiding the mess that was gradually spreading from their dough-caked hands to the rest of the kitchen. There was baking soda on the floor, sticky dough plastered to the marble countertop, sprinkles scattered about everywhere else... and that was only the room itself. Robin, Starfire and Beast Boy were streaked with flour, dough and frosting, hands sticky and sugar crunching under their nails.
"The bigger the mess, the better the result, I always say," Robin chirped past his bell-shaped cookie, his hands stained as green as his gloves with food coloring.
Slade turned the last of the lights in his apartment out, scratching the back of his neck as he made his way down the hall to his bedroom. Clad in only a pair of plaid sleep-pants, he was ready to climb into bed and drown out the thoughts of the suspicious letter he had received with inappropriate dreams starring his little bird.
Kicking his bedroom door closed behind him, the man fell onto his king-sized bed, kicking the covers around until they fell over his broad form. He curled his arm under his pillow and sighed deeply, his steely grey eye sliding closed.
His alarm clock showed it was a little past eleven, its red letters glowing eerily in the dull light. The city was settling down, windows darkening and cars returning home. The chatter of people and music from stores quieted, nearly silent save for the occasional bark of a dog and the dulled noises from the inner city districts that were alive with movement at all hours.
Beneath the usual sounds that lulled him to sleep every night, Slade picked up something different. It was a distinct clicking, like the sound of a dog's nails scampering against hardwood flooring. It continued for a few moments, steadily growing louder, and Slade blinked his eye open just as the knob of the bedroom door began to rattle.
Two dark forms pushed past, hurrying into the room and to either side of the bed. Slade was up in an instant, ready to snap the neck of whoever broke into his home.
"What the f-"
A pair of green eyes fixed on him and his face suddenly stung with the glittering dust that was thrown at him. The world began to spin, and the mercenary fought to retain his consciousness. It was a losing battle, much to his irritation, and Slade fell to his knees, leveling him with the mysterious shadows.
Just as his vision began to blur, the green eyes spoke.
"You missed your appointment, Mister Wilson."
Robin yawned as he wiped the last of the cookie dough and sprinkles from the counter. His eyes drooped close for a moment, head bobbing, before he snapped back awake. He tossed the dirtied sponge into the sink before spinning on his heel and gliding towards the Tower dormitories, flicking lights off along the way.
Punching in the pass to his room, the fifteen-year-old yawned again and trudged inside. He unclasped his cape and kicked his boots off, trying not to trip on them as they fell behind him. Next came his tights and tunic, which slid down his skin like water, pooling around his feet. His mask dropped somewhere by the nightstand, but Robin made no move to look for it.
Crawling into bed, Robin pulled the covers up to his neck, curling into the warmth. He cuddled his face into the soft pillow, one more yawn parting his lips before he was enveloped in sweet darkness.
Slade awoke to a barrage of noise assaulting his ears. There was the sound of hammering, sawing, shouting and some sort of snuffling noise that seemed to be coming from directly above him. He slowly cracked his eye open, the blurry scenery changing until he could focus on the furry face above him.
The reindeer jumped back in alarm at his shout, dancing on its hooves and snorting as it tossed its head. The bells that lined its harness tinkled merrily, attracting the attention of a few other presences nearby.
"About time you got up."
Slade turned to see two men talking towards him. It took the white-haired male a moment to realize that no, they were not very far away, they were just very short. Their heads reached to his hip, and they were dressed in varying shades of green and red. There were others like them, working and packing and generally just rushing about, jingling as they went.
"What the fuck is all this?" Slade snarled, pushing himself to his feet so he towered over the little men. "And what the hell are you?" He scrubbed a hand through his thick white hair before adding to himself in a disbelieving mumble, "God, there was a deer breathing on my face..."
"We're elves, smart guy," the 'elf' on the left said, rolling his eyes. Those eyes, green, where the ones Slade had seen before he blacked out.
"You broke into my home," he said lowly, fingers itching to wring that little neck.
"It was the only way we could get you here. You never responded to our letter."
Slade stared down at him, looking very much like he had suffered a stroke. His jaw locked, teeth grinding, and the two elves exchanged a worried look.
"Jangle, go get the boss."
"On it, Jingle."
The second male, Jangle, scurried into the mess of scrambling elves, disappearing from view.
"The boss'll be able to explain everything to you," Jingle said, turning away and gesturing for Slade to follow. Realizing that he was well out of his element, the one-eyed man decided that, for now, it would be best to cooperate.
Slade took the time to look around, cataloging his surroundings and locating all possible threats and escapes. There wasn't much besides elves, reindeer and a fair amount of machinery, but one could never be too careful when in a foreign environment. He could tell that they were underground, judging by the low temperature – then again, he rationalized, they were supposedly in the North Pole – and lack of windows. There was a ramp that elves and reindeer weighed down with boxes were running up and down, and Slade assumed that they too were heading up that way.
Slade ducked just in time to avoid getting his head kicked off by a reindeer that flew past them. The blond-haired elf upon its back shouted a clipped apology before continuing on her way. Slade could only straighten and blink after them, regretting his height for the first time in his life. The elves were short enough to keep from being taken down by one of the flying beasts, but Slade himself, standing at an impressive six-foot-four, was in danger under the reckless reindeer-drivers.
"You'll get used to it," Jingle said flippantly, having not even turned to see if he was alright after issuing his short warning.
"Why on God's green earth would I be required to get used to this?" Slade growled, throwing an arm out.
"If you can't handle the reindeer, than you sure as holiday won't be able to handle delivering the presents."
Slade stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Jingle's back with utter disbelief in his wide eye. Surely he had heard wrong. Three minutes ago, he had been completely confident that Santa didn't exist, and now he was being told that he was to take on Father Christmas' duty of delivering presents.
The man's brain suddenly seemed to be seeping from his ears, and Jingle turned back to look at his temporary charge with a raised eyebrow.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked, eying him suspiciously.
Slade opened his mouth to reply, only to find his voice box inoperable. He could only gape like a demented goldfish while Jingle shifted awkwardly.
"Well, let's get a move on then," the elf said gruffly after a moment's pause. "We've still got to get you oriented and suited up."
"Suited up...?" Slade murmured, almost dreamily, as he and Jingle made their way up the ramp and out into the icy winter air. Snow fell slowly around them, making him feel as if they were caught in a snow globe. It was thick and fluffy, impossibly perfect compared to the snow that currently threatened a good population of the planet.
Jingle led them onto what appeared to be a landing-pad, fixed with lights along the sides and all. There were a few elves standing around, hands wrapped around mugs of hot chocolate, chatting idly as they awaited pending orders. At the end of the strip of asphalt was a sleigh, painted a vibrant red and lined with perfectly polished gold. Reindeer were being hitched to it, obediently remaining still while their harnesses were latched and tested for tightness.
"There you are!"
Slade turned at the deep, booming voice, only to be once again shocked into silence. There, right before him in all his jolly, belly-like-a-bowl-full-of-jelly glory, was Santa Clause himself. He was clad in red pants and a white turtleneck, along with a pair of black boots and matching suspenders. His beard was thick and stark-white, and his cheeks were round and rosy. His sparkling eyes were permanently crinkled from countless years of laughter and were framed by a pair of thin glasses. The only thing off about him was the wheelchair.
"What happened to him?" Slade found himself asking Jingle while the round man was still out of earshot.
"Freak reindeer accident," Jingle replied. When Slade shot him a disturbed look, he shook his head gravely. "Don't ask."
"I was starting to think you would never show up!" Santa laughed heartily as Slade and Jingle reached him. He was situated comfortably on a cleared patch of the runway, his cast-bound leg propped up in front of him. There were two elves at his side, short shovels in their gloved hands, no doubt to be used to clear a path to the little cottage that was twenty or so feet away so his wheelchair wouldn't slip.
"Well, I'm here..." Slade said, unsure.
Santa seemed to sense his hesitance and confusion, because he laughed again.
"Don't be worried, my boy," he reassured, smiling warmly. "You'll do great."
"Do great on what, may I ask?"
"Jingle hasn't told you why you're here yet?" He sent his green-clad helper a reprimanding look, but the softness of his expression and eyes didn't appear very intimidating to Slade. Jingle, however, drooped, apparently genuinely humbled by the look.
"He explained a bit..." Slade said. "Something about delivering presents?"
"Yes," Santa nodded, gesturing for a few elves to join them. They hurried over, weighed down with what appeared to be a pile of red velvet. "As you can see, I've hurt my leg, and it's gotten me into quite a pickle. I couldn't possibly drive my sleigh like this, so I had to find someone to do it for me."
"And that someone is me, I presume?"
"Good, lad!" Santa chuckled, belly bouncing.
"But why me, sir?" Sade almost couldn't believe he was speaking to Kris Kringle himself, let alone being told he was to adopt his responsibilities for the night.
"Why, you need some Christmas spirit, my dear boy!" the bearded man exclaimed, as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet. "You spend the holiday season moping around. No tree or lights to be seen... not even a pinch of tinsel!"
"I don't have anything against Christmas, sir, I just-"
"I know, son," Santa said, gravely voice pitched low. "It must be hard for such a warm holiday to come around, yet have nobody to share it with."
Slade felt a defensive prickle in his chest that immediately translated to anger, but he pushed it aside.
Santa once again picked up on his shift of emotion, and he discreetly changed the subject by taking the red garments from the waiting elves.
"This is my suit," he explained, unfolding the soft-looking material and handing it to Slade. "It'll be big on you, but it's designed to act as insulation does. You'll stay toasty warm, even when you're in the chilliest regions!"
Slade looked the suit over before quickly stepping into the pants and pulling the coat over his head. Santa was right, it really was like insulation. Just standing there in the freezing temperatures and he felt as though he was being warmed by a roaring fireplace. The bottoms were a bit loose, but Santa pointed out the drawstring and Slade easily hitched them up and tied them off. As for the coat, it fit well on his massive shoulders, but it sagged around the midsection.
"Don't let Mrs. Clause see that," Santa whispered, eyes crinkling with his smile. "She'll try to fatten you up." He gave a pat to his round belly as he laughed.
Slade chuckled, feeling a little more at ease with this bizarre situation. Santa – he repeated the name over in his head out of disbelief – didn't seem worried, so why should Slade be? Sure, he was in the North Pole, talking to Santa about delivering presents to all the good little boys and girls and he was going crazy.
"Alright, lad, let's get you moving!"
The man started as little hands began to push him towards the sleigh. The elves urged him up the step and onto the seat, which was ridiculously comfortably, and he sunk into it. He craned his neck to see a big bag crammed behind him, no doubt stuffed to the brim with presents for the world's children.
"If you have any trouble at all, son, the reindeer will help you," Santa shouted up to him.
"I'm not sure if-" Slade's voice was cut off by the lurch and buck of the sleigh as it began to glide forward. He hastily snatched up the reins, teeth clenching in alarm as they bumped along the ramp. He looked back to see Santa and all his little helpers waving and smiling as he rose higher into the air. He slowly turned back forward, eye wide. "Well, shit."
The ground below the reindeer team's loping hooves was perfectly white, dotted with clusters of pine trees here and there. Everything was white, not a single sign of other life beyond Santa's little civilization and the sparse trees. Fortunately, Slade didn't feel much of the cold, the fur-lined suit heavy on his frame as it shielded him from the wind. His fingers, buried in a pair of thick black gloves, remained wrapped firmly around the reins, unsure of what else to do.
Slade released the leather in order to slid his hands into the pockets of his coat, hoping to find some sort of clue as to what he was supposed to do. He couldn't detect much for sensation, but he did manage to grab the scroll that was rolled up inside. He pulled it out and untied it, spreading it out on the seat next to him so he could read it.
It was a list of names, he discovered. They were in alphabetical order by last name, but there were no locations or any hint as to where each child resided. He flipped the impossibly long list over, but the back was blank. How was he supposed to know where to go, Slade wondered.
"Check the GPS."
"What?" Slade's head snapped up to meet amused brown eyes. The reindeer were situated in rows, two of the magical creatures running side-by-side in line through the air. The one that he apparently heard speakwas one of the two in the last row, closest to the sleigh.
"I said check the GPS," the reindeer repeated. "It'll tell you where we're supposed to go and whose house it is."
Slade slowly nodded, still staring at the talking reindeer as he pressed the power button on the sleigh's dashboard. The screen flickered to life, calculating their exact location and marking the first place they were supposed to land at. He discovered that each stop was on a schedule that was also displayed on the dashboard above the GPS. They didn't go in order like the list of names he had found, but by location, so that he could move as quickly and efficiently as possible.
"Thanks, uh..." Slade paused, unsure of how to respond to the reindeer.
"The name's Blitzen," he laughed, tossing his head and causing the bells around his neck to jingle merrily. He jerked his antlers at the reindeer next to him. "This is my partner, Donner."
"Yo," Donner said shortly, his voice a deep, booming baritone.
"That's Comet and Cupid." Blitzen signaled to the two reindeer in front of him and Donner.
"How's it hangin', bro?" Comet turned to grin at him. For a reindeer, he was quite handsome.
"Hi!" Comet's partner, Cupid, greeted him, her voice high and musical.
"Then there's Prancer and Vixen."
The two grinned at him, though Vixen's was much more mischievous. Slade made a mental note to keep an eye on him throughout the night, because nothing good could possibly come from a Cheshire grin like that.
"Then way up front there is Dasher and Dancer," Blitzen said. "Dasher's our leader."
Slade nodded, impressed both by the fact that the animals could talk, and that they had their own unique personalities. It was quite astounding, especially to a man like himself, one who liked facts. It was rare that he saw something believed to be nonexistent, and when he did, it was taken as a pleasant change of pace.
The GPS gave a beep, pulling him from his thoughts, and Slade used the touch-screen to zoom in on their location. It was their first house, and the digital list highlighted the names of two children who Slade assumed lived there. It also branched out and listed what presents they were to receive. Slade looked back at the sack in the rear of the sleigh, wondering if he was supposed to dig through the the entire thing and read the tag of each box until he found the right names. The bag didn't even look large enough to physically fit enough gifts for the better part of the earth's populations of children.
"Just reach in."
Slade frowned and turned back to Blitzen. His brown eyes shifted past him to the sack of gifts, then back to his face. The man shrugged and reached back to mouth of the bag. He untied the cord and peered inside. It was full of brightly wrapped boxes and bags, each tied with luscious ribbons and marked with tags and stickers.
"The sack will know what child is being delivered to," Blitzen said as the reindeer began to slow and lose altitude. They circled a well-sized white house with black shutters and a rustic brick chimney. Its windows were dark, the inhabitants sleeping snug in their beds. "Just reach in and it'll give you whatever gifts you need."
Slade could appreciate that. He wasn't one for magic, but this was definitely something amazing. He held onto the magic bag as they landed, sliding softly onto the snow-covered roof. The reindeer snuffled as he leaped from the sleigh, their breath crystallizing and creating little puffs of fog.
"Now comes the hard part," Blitzen said. "You gotta slide down the chimney.
Slade hauled the sack from the rear of the sleigh, hefting it up over his shoulder and onto his back. He walked over, peering down the chimney and into the darkness below. He wasn't worried. Really, if Santa could squeeze his big belly down a chimney, Slade could surely make it too.
Forcing the bag of presents down first, Slade climbed up onto the rim and sat with his legs hanging inside. He looked back at the reindeer, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, before sliding down into the chimney. It was dark and a bit claustrophobic, but he managed to safely make it to the bottom. What was surprising was the fact that there wasn't even a hint of soot on his suit.
"Magic..." Slade shook his head, smiling slightly.
The man set his bag down and reached inside. The GPS had said that two children, twins, lived here, and sure enough, the sack produced their presents. Slade turned and looked around until he spotted the Christmas tree. He set the presents beneath it, feeling something akin to pride well up in his chest. He was going soft...
Just as he replaced the bag on his back and was about to try to climb his way back up to the roof, a voice echoed down the chimney.
"Hey..." It was just a whisper to keep from waking any members of the slumbering family within.
Slade bent down and looked up the chimney, seeing Dasher's face peering back down at him.
"What is it? You'll wake them..."
"I just wanted to remind you to eat the cookies," Dasher said, smirking. "And grab the card if they left one. Santa likes to hang them up in the workshop."
"Cookies?" Slade wondered aloud. He scanned the homey living room, and his eye landed on a plate of sugar cookies smeared with colorful frosting. He eyed them with distaste. The temporary-Santa never really liked sweets. That and they were made of pure sugar and carbs that would fatten him up before Mrs. Clause ever got the chance to.
Even with this in mind, he ate them, finding that they were quite good. There was also a card addressed to Santa, and Slade picked it up, flipping it open. There was a scribbled picture of Kris Kringle dressed in the bright red, fur-trimmed suit that Slade wore now. By his side were two little girls, each holding one of his hands.
Slade smiled slightly to himself and slid the crayon-covered card into his coat before reclaiming the bag of presents and shoving it up the chimney. He pondered how he was going to get his ass back up to the roof, but luckily for him, the reins of the sleigh flew down, almost whipping him in the face. He snatched up the last Santa-shaped cookie before he grabbed onto them and, with the combined strength of the athletic reindeer above, he was lifted to the surface.
The mercenary couldn't help but grin at the merry reindeer. That had actually been pretty fun. Then again, he wasn't sure if he would think so after a few thousand more houses. He made his way back around to the sleigh, tossing the sack behind his seat. As he climbed inside, plopping back into his spot behind the reins, he realized that his cookie was gone.
Vixen chortled joyfully, crumbs stuck to his nose. The other reindeer busted out laughing as they took off into the sky, and Slade scowled.
It was going to be a long night.
When Slade landed atop the Titan's Tower, he was surprised. After checking the list, he realized that each of the teens had been made a gift for being so nice. That in itself didn't surprise him, per se, but the fact that they weren't considered too old to be rewarded by Santa did. He had files on each of the Titans – he knew his little bird's details by heart – and their associations, if they had any, so he was well aware of their ages. Maybe the annoying green one and the ugly alien were young enough, but the other three? He doubted they still believed in jolly old Kris Kringle.
Shaking his head, Slade vaulted from the sleigh, boots clomping on the freshly fallen snow that he knew Robin would be out shoveling in the morning. Couldn't have a snowy launch pad after all.
The air trembled around him, silent save for the sound of the gentle winter breeze and the occasional honk of a faraway car horn. The snow was soft and crunchy beneath his soles, rubber sinking easily into the fluffy crystals as the extra weight of the sack was presents was added to Slade's own pounds. The moon shone down on him illuminating the tired lines that had taken refuge along his brows.
The Tower was the last on Santa's list, and Slade was thankful for that. His limbs ached from trekking through knee-high snow and sliding down chimneys. He had never eaten so many cookies in his entire life, and he was pretty sure the coat of Santa's suit was starting to get a bit snug at this point. He wished he had energy like the reindeer did, as they just blinked and snorted, tossing their heads as they danced on their hooves.
Swinging his tired gaze around the launchpad, Slade realized that there was no chimney, and he managed a small smile. He had encountered a good number of houses that didn't have chimneys, and he had been worried. That is until Dasher had informed him that his gloves would get him into any of the buildings that they needed to deliver to.
A snap of his fingers later and the door to the roof was unlocked. Slade smirked and began his walk down the stairs, the almost-empty bag of presents slung over his shoulder. He navigated his way through the halls, meandering along for a bit until he finally came upon the living room. Just as he had predicted while contemplating on Christmas Eve, the Tower's living room was well-decorated. The tall tree was dazzling, and there was already an impressive pile of presents on the floor beneath it.
Slade set his bag down and reached inside, retrieving the remaining five gifts. A moderately large box wrapped in metallic emerald paper printed with paw prints was first, and he tossed it under the tree. Then came a glittery pink box tied with a fluffy white bow that he could only assume was the ugly alien's. He placed Starfire's brightly wrapped gift – she wasn't even from this planet, so why did she get a present? - next to the changeling's. The bright silver box caught him off guard with its weight, and he slid it into place, mildly curious as at what the cybernetic teen received that was so heavy. Some sort of small toolbox, he guessed as he placed the witch-girl's box next to it. Last, but certainly not least, was Robin's, wrapped in red and green and tied with a canary-yellow ribbon.
Glancing into the magic bag and seeing that it was empty, Slade sighed. He was done with this draining community service. He didn't think he'd ever been so relieved in his life.
Robin stretched as he shuffled down the hall, limbs buzzing as goosebumps rippled over the skin of his bare legs. His feet, clad in a pair of thick, warm wool socks were silent against the floor, his steps as light as that of a feline's velvety paws. His pulled his sweater, worn and droopy from use, tighter around him, eyes closing sleepily as he blindly made his way to the kitchen. It was just past five in the morning, and the Titan leader had awoken to a dry throat. Planning to make a cup of hot chocolate, he pulled on a heavy sweater over his bare torso and socks over his frozen toes.
The doors that led to the Tower's living room slid open with a whoosh as Robin walked towards them. He paused by the thermostat, adjusting the temperature to a toasty seventy-five degrees to eliminate the chill in the air. He closed the plastic hatch and turned, heading towards the kitchen.
There was someone in the Tower, someone who he didn't know.
The red clothes...
The white hair and beard...
The bag of presents...
Robin's eyes went round.
The man jumped in alarm, whipping around to stare at the slender acrobat. His one eye, the other covered by a thin black black patch, was wide in surprise. It was a deep, stormy grey, accenting his tanned skin and stark-white hair. He was tall and muscular with a broad upper body and a trim waist that Robin was sure Santa did not possess.
"Uh..." 'Santa' struggled, and Robin blinked owlishly at him. The rather adorable action only made his search for the enigma that was the English language that much harder. The boy looked absolutely ravishing in a pair of slightly-too-big boxers and a grey sweater, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, and holy shit, those eyes.
"You're not Santa..." Robin said lowly, immediately becoming defensive now that he was actually awake enough to properly register his surroundings and realize that Father Christmas did not exist.
"Uh, no," the man said, shifting awkwardly on the balls of his feet.
"S-Slade?" Robin's eyes widened when he recognized the voice of Jump's greatest villain.
"Yes," the mercenary sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Robin spluttered. "And why are you dressed like Santa?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Robin's brows furrowed as he looked Slade up and down. The older male looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his eye drooping. His forehead sported deep creases and his slate-grey eye was dull and tired.
Slade glanced up at him in surprise.
The Boy Wonder padded across the room and into the kitchen, signaling for Slade to follow. He hesitated a moment before trailing after, forcing his eye away from the gently swaying hips before him.
"For your hot chocolate," Robin elaborated, glancing at the Santa look-a-like over his shoulder as he gathered two mugs. "Do you want marshmallows?"
"I don't need-"
"This can happen one of two ways, Slade," the ex-sidekick drawled, and Slade couldn't help but think that the fact that Robin's back was to him so he couldn't see his face made the teen seem a bit more intimidating. "You can either drink the hot chocolate, or I can kick your ass until you beg for some. Sound good?"
"Sounds lovely," Slade breathed, sliding into one of the stools along the kitchen island.
Robin went about preparing two cups of hot chocolate, and Slade remained quiet while watching him do so. He was surprised that the fiery bird had yet to comment on the fact that Slade was not wearing a mask, but Slade himself was not about to poke at Robin for not wearing his own. It was, after all, just a little past five AM, and the Boy Wonder had most likely been sleeping.
Slade looked up at Robin before nodding his head and accepting the steaming hot chocolate. As he wrapped his fingers around the heated mug, he caught Robin's own, their digits caressing accidentally. They stared at one another for a moment before Robin's brilliantly blue eyes flicked away.
"So..." he began, taking a seat across from Slade, his mug cradled in his slender hands, "tell me why you're here."
"I, uh..." Slade paused, unsure of how to put the situation into words. "I'm Santa."
Robin stared at him. A squeak bubbled up from his throat, and suddenly he was almost howling with laughter. Slade never got embarrassed, but he was starting to feel it now. This was the boy who he had practically worshiped since the day he glided into the city, and he was laughing at him.
"You-you're not Santa," the raven-haired teen managed to get out between giggles.
"Well, not necessarily," Slade frowned. "I am only a temporary replacement."
"Replacement?" Robin raised a brow, crystalline eyes half-lidded.
"Yes," the one-eyed male said confidently. "Santa hurt his leg in a, quote, 'freak reindeer accident', end quote."
"A freak reindeer accident?"
"That is correct."
"Well, Mr. Clause, I'll get you some cookies to-go, and then you can get the hell outta my tower," Robin chirped, setting his mug down and retrieving a large plastic storage container from the counter.
"I am serious, Robin," Slade insisted, feeling an intense urge to prove himself to the Boy Wonder. "The reindeer are up on the roof right now."
"Yeah, well, my reindeer is currently sleeping, so I'll come back to that argument when he wakes up."
Slade scowled as Robin slid back onto his stool. His stomach rolled a bit when the little bird pushed a plate of cookies across to him. He eyeballed the brightly frosted sweets, unsure if he'd be able to eat ever again.
"Aww, don't look so sour," Robin teased, grinning at him. "It's Christmas!"
"I know. I was the one that delivered it," Slade deadpanned, earning a tinkling laugh from the lithe teen. The sound reminded him of Blitzen's bells.
"Why don't you go home?" the younger male said, collecting his empty mug and sending him a compassionate look that surprised the mercenary. Usually the boy wasn't so warm towards him. "You look absolutely exhausted."
"You have no clue..." Slade mumbled to himself before standing. He accepting the plate of cookies with a grimace and made his way back to the elevator, the Boy Wonder following. When he turned to thank Robin for his kindness, he found the teen blushing madly and flicking his gaze up to something beyond Slade's head. The man raised his eye and smirked. "Well, it's been pleasant."
Silently thanking the mistletoe tacked above them, Slade wrapped his free arm around Robin's waist and lifted him off the ground, holding him tightly to his chest as he crushed their lips together. He felt the ex-sidekick tense in his arms for a moment before melting completely against him. Slim legs wrapped tightly around his waist while two curious hands moved along his chest before settling on the back of his neck.
When they separated, tongues having been introduced and saliva thoroughly swapped, Robin's baby-blue eyes were glazed and Slade wasn't faring much better. He knew he shouldn't, but he wanted the teen. He wanted him so bad it hurt. The man tried to break away by telling himself he needed to return Santa's reindeer to the North Pole, but those delicious hips were so distracting.
"Well..." Robin breathed, wrapping his arms tighter around the temporary Kris Kringle's neck. "Ho, ho, ho..."
When Robin pulled him into another kiss, Slade swore he'd bring the reindeer back later.
Maybe in the morning.
A/N: So this was supposed to be a cute, short little drabble for Christmas...
11000 WORDS LATER.
Ajklafalkrhs I don't even lol. This took me forever to write because I kept getting confused when I was figuring out the timeline... but it still happened, you guys (ignore the lateness)! I actually found the personalities for Santa's reindeer online, as weird as it is. I guess some guy like completely overanalyzed them and posted an article about it... well, kudos to that guy, because it helped me add depth to the adorable reindeer!
I hope you enjoyed it, and reviews are always welcome (they could be a Christmas present from you to me...?)!
Merry Christmas 2011, everybody!