Cody and his extra-large cock have a premium gig going, until a few random words to the wrong person turn him into the magical nephew of a very real supernatural being—and this year, Uncle Kris needs his help.
The “converted warehouse” turned out to be a big, century-old art-deco industrial building downtown, a former telephone exchange that was now empty and repurposed for some secret holiday-themed hijinx. Only a bit of red and green trim on the windows lining the upper story hinted at its new utility. Kris landed the sleigh unconcernedly on the roof and we descended via one of those roof-top doors into the Santa HQ, Niagara Frontier division.
The ride down was in a noisy cage elevator just big enough for the three of us. Uncle Kris was now coyly keeping mum about what lay ahead. Instead he choose to ignore us and hum “Good king Wenceslas” to himself, as if to make up for the lack of preprogrammed Christmas music.
At last, with a jolt we reached the main floor. Kris ushered us out and onto the main floor, which, despite taking up close to a city block, was completely empty in all directions up to the whitewashed brick walls, stretching high up the way we’d come on all sides. The only anomaly was a set of thin, dull-scarlet lines radiating outward from a single white-painted disc in the center of the floor. As we walked across them they seemed to shift and fluctuate in odd ways, as though there many more of them than we could see, only a fraction of the multitude appearing at any one time. Some concentrated in bundles, others were separate and alone, but all converged on that small white circle. Awareness tugged at the corners of my mind. These weren’t just painted lines on a concrete floor—these were links. Connections to people. That had to be what they were.
I kept silent, trying to figure out what my senses and subconscious were telling me, but Josh was happy to pick up the slack, inquisition-wise. “Why did you call Cody in like this, all of a sudden?” he asked as the three of us made our way across the expanse to the center of the design.
“Well, funny thing,” Uncle Kris observed conversationally. “Usually, you see, I contract this bit out to the satyrs—”
“Contract it out?” Josh broke in, laughing. “You mean you outsource gay Christmas?”
“—But this year,” the big man continued as if Josh had not spoken, “happens to be the seven thousandth anniversary of the very first satyr solstice, so they are all busy with their own, hm, observances.” He chuckled a bit, then added, “Anyway, I like keeping the operations in the family.”
Josh looked at me, one dark brow raised. “He’s pulling your leg about the satyrs,” I said, though truthfully I had no idea. Uncle Kris beamed inscrutably down at us. He was quite capable of any making any yarn plausible—and in this set-up, who knew?
Josh was distracted, anyway, and was looking me over rather saucily. “Nice get-up,” he said approvingly. I looked down, feeling the ball of my Santa cap slide over my nape as I did so. I was still shirtless, my defined body looking like an essay in chiseled white marble apart from the pale pink of my nipples and a thin line of ginger fuzz trailing down from my navel; but below all that I was now attired in my own version of the traditional pants, belt, and boots. Only in my case the red cloth of the pants was woven through with a shiny thread that drew attention just how snugly the legs wrapped around my thighs, my calves, and—presumably—my premium, much-complimented ass, not to mention the pronounced and well rounded bulge up front. Thanks to last year’s Zack-blessing I had a dick in the very top percentile of all men on the planet, with balls to match, and my current outfit presented absolutely no occlusion of that fact.
At least the thing came with a jock, I mused to myself, marveling anew at my size. Otherwise I’d be wedged down one of those pants legs halfway to my knee, and where’s the subtlety in that?
I met Josh’s eyes, which were dark with desire, and grinned.
“Plenty of time for that later,” Uncle Kris said, sounding amused. He was standing next to the disc. It was maybe five feet across, larger than I’d thought from across the room. To all appearances it was a simple, carefully delineated circle of solid white paint, but I could sense there was more to it than a lick of semigloss.
He gestured, and I stepped onto the disc.
Immediately I felt a thrum of connection—not of me to a source of external power, but of the exterior world to my own innate potency. I looked up at Kris in surprise, and he nodded proudly. “Yes,” he affirmed, “you are indeed my brother’s son.”
My eyes widened comically at that. Had I actually gone along with this whole Uncle Kris thing for the last hour without wondering, even for a second, exactly how he was my uncle? Either Bob Guthrie of El Paso, my real dad, was hiding a shit-ton of secrets from me and my two sisters (one now an accountant and the other a naval nuclear engineer), or else my past had just been completely rewritten—all thanks to a few drunken words I’d shouted into a facetime call at an orgy in Fort Lee, New Jersey seven days back.
Life was weird.
I tried to assemble a coherent question about my parentage and ancestry, but the way Uncle Kris bent toward me just then and focused his intense gaze on mine scattered all thought and reason to the winds, leaving me a blank. “Do you feel it?” he asked, his gaze so piercing I was sure he was seeing into me and I wouldn’t need to answer. I did feel “it,” though, whatever it was. My inner inexhaustible well of magic, and its countless connections to the world of mortals through the spellcastings attached to this spot on which I stood, radiating outward along those shifting, myriad scarlet lines to every possible person on earth. I nodded mutely.
He smiled, and for him it was a small smile, calm and intimate. He held out a hand. “The List,” he said. “Or, your portion of it,” he added fondly.
I blinked. On his massive palm was an apple-sized ball of wriggling blackness. When I looked closer I saw that there were countless thin, hairlike wisps extending a few millimeters out of the ball, some straight, some curved, all of them writhing this way and that as if trying to escape. I realized the whole ball was made up of these lines.
A List, Kris had said. This was a ball of handwritten names, written somehow in living ink.
Nervously I reached for it, taking it into my own, much smaller palm. The ball itself had heft, like it had the weight of the ink used in making it; more than that, it had a power to it, and now that it was in my hand I knew what to do. Before I could think twice about it I smacked my hand hard against my naked chest—and gasped as the names entered me, loud and hard, like someone waking theatrically from the dead in a cheesy fantasy movie where people have trouble staying deceased for very long.
“Cody!” Josh shouted. All at once he was there next to me, in the circle, his arm around my bare shoulders. I wanted to turn and comfort him, but I needed to a moment to grasp my new understanding. Finally I turned to him and gave him a crooked and very dirty smirk. The threads glimmered in my peripheral vision—my threads, the ones I had been given. “So many men,” I said to Josh, my voice rough. His dark-blue eyes lit with interest, and I smiled wider. I had to say it. “So many men… so little time.”
Only I knew time did not matter. Not because the world stopped for Santa on Christmas or anything as crazy and disruptive as that. No, the nature of my magic, among other things, allowed me a simple ability that was, for these purposes, of utmost usefulness. Not only could I pass along any of these glimmering scarlet threads to meet the men on my list—I could pass along any number of them at once. A dozen mes, a thousand, a billion, all diverging from this point, giving pleasure to the “nice” gay men of planet Earth and then reconverging, merging all my memories into a single night of unbounded pleasure. Fuck, why had I refused to be a part of the family business before now?
Oh, right, it’d only been real since last week. I grinned, full of warm, anticipatory lust, and leaned in to plant a deep, tonguey kiss on Josh. He eyed me excitedly when we broke. I wasn’t sure how much he’d guessed about what was going on—he was a very sharp guy—but either way he was about to experience the whole story. The naked truth about Santa’s rent boy nephew… and exactly how he was going to put the “happy” in everyone’s holidays. Not to mention, in more than a few cases, the “hole.”
“Tomorrow is the big night, of course,” Uncle Kris boomed, back to his jovial, no-indoor-voice persona, “but you can try things out tonight, perhaps make an early start.”
I wrapped my arm around Josh and grinned up at my uncle. “My thoughts exactly,” I drawled, my dick already twitching. I knew exactly who was on the top of my personal holiday list.
Uncle Kris was brimming with amusement, regarding both of us knowingly. “I shall… leave you to it, then?” he said. Without waiting for an answer he started back for the elevator, jauntily humming the tune to “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” as he went.
I turned giddily to Josh. “You ready to try this Christmas magic stuff?” I asked him, already knowing the answer.
Josh was practically incandescent. “I’m all yours, Santa Baby,” he purred.
We kissed again, and as our tongues collided and our cocks thickened I found the glimmering scarlet thread I was looking for and, digging down deep in myself, managed to invoke my Kringle-born powers for the very first time.
Zack looked up from his book with green-blue eyes almost as round as his Harold Lloyd glasses when we manifested in his toasty Back Bay bedroom. He wasn’t in the big, neatly made bed itself but was instead curled up in his pjs under a comforter on a flowery chaise lounge near the picture window, a buttery light from an arched floor lamp behind him providing the only illumination. His lush blond hair was only slightly disheveled despite the hour, and I noticed that unlike Josh there was no sign of a beard along his angular jawline. He looked altogether delicious in an innocent half-fae sort of way, making me wonder again what he was and how his mojo worked. Maybe he was the real Christmas elf all along, I mused, though he was all about the pagan precursors, the yules and solstices and Saturnalias and so on.
Before he could react I’d closed the distance between us and was bent over him, planting a truly fantastic smooch which he returned more or less automatically. Then I stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed, hardly a foot away, eyeing him saucily. “Hey there, cuz,” I said, sounding as insufferably pleased with myself as I felt. I guess I’d adapted pretty quickly to what the Cody Claus thing really meant, especially once I’d started sensing it from the inside. As a thirsty guy with a deep appreciation for cock and sweat and male pulchritude in general, I was seeing all this as a chance to move up from premium rent boy to a whole new level of fucking around.
“Hey,” Zack said weakly. He was scoping me top to bottom, taking in the hat, the sculpted alabaster torso, the scarlet leggings with the fuzzy white trim and the black leather accoutrements, and I was happy to let him. A little spot of color appeared in his cheeks—I could feel him getting turned on. His lips pursed in a wh for a second before he managed to actually speak the words. “Wh–what are you supposed to—be—?” he said, but even as he asked the question he seemed to realize exactly what I was supposed to be, and his eyes got even wider.
“Why, I’m the personification of Christmas, Zack,” I told him. “At least for the good little gay boys who like a bit of cock and muscle.” When he just stared at me dumbfounded, I teased, “What, you didn’t know your blessings actually worked?”
He looked me over again. “Not this… literally,” he said. He shifted a bit under the blanket, and I got the feeling he was very glad to be covered up just then. His eyes flicked to my more muscular partner, who’d taken a seat on the end of the chaise lounge near Zack’s feet. “Who’s this, Mrs. Claus?” Zack asked, as if he couldn’t take many more wonders.
Josh snorted. “That’s Claus-Arias to you,” he said, resting a paw somewhere on Zack’s lower leg through the heavy duvet and giving him a squeeze. I blew him a kiss.
“We’re just copies, anyway,” I put in, rocking a hand between me and Josh with thumb and pinkie extended. “Duped for your pleasure. The real us is back at Christmas HQ, making out like teenagers.”
“We’ll remerge with ourselves later,” Josh added. “Join our memories together.”
“I’m really looking forward to that part,” I said, licking my lips as Zack watched, fascinated and very aroused.
“Uh huh,” Zack said faintly. He was confused, but intrigued. “So you’re saying you hotties are, what, a Christmas present from Santa?” he said, shaking his head slightly. A fat lock of hair fell over his eyes, and he pushed it back aggressively before I could. “H-how does that work?”
I stood, letting my protruding package take the place of my face in his field of vision. He peered at it, his hunger so evident I half expected his glasses to start fogging. I wondered if he realized my enlarged junk was his doing, too. Did he really believe he was just sending good vibes out into the world? “I think,” I told him, tapping my chin, “that you will remember this as a dream.” I moved myself and my crotch an inch or two closer, and Zack gulped. “A very… vivid…. dream.” I started stroking his long, flaxen hair, unable to help myself.
Zack ogled my crotch silently for a long moment. Josh and I waited patiently for his reaction, him rubbing slowly along Zack’s leg, me carding his hair. We had no place else to be. We—these copies of us, that is to say, the us that’d come here along the shimmering scarlet thread that linked this room to a brick warehouse some 450 miles due west—we existed just for him, just for this night. Tomorrow Josh and I would be doing this for thousands, maybe millions of sex-loving gay guys all around the world; but for tonight, it was just me, Josh, and Zack.
When Zack looked up at last, his teal eyes had very visibly darkened. “If this is a dream…” he began softly. He paused and removed his glasses, very deliberately setting them aside on the deep window-ledge next to him, then looked up and met my gaze again with a directness I hadn’t quite seen coming. “if this is a dream,” he repeated, his sex-dark eyes drilling into mine, “maybe I should be able to imagine it… my way.”
My smile split into a Cheshire cat grin. I knew instinctively that this, too, was part of my magic. A thrill of possibility and anticipation ran through me as I shared a glance with Josh, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. Putting ourselves in our subject’s hands, to be remolded to his fantasies… in a way, that was what this gift thing was all about. We weren’t doling out prepackaged consumer goods, after all—no game cubes or red bicycles here. No, we were out bringing our guys a unique kind of happiness, in a way no one else on Earth could possibly do. Yeah, suck it, Easter bunny, I thought—I got this.
My pecs tingled. Zack wanted them to grow bigger, round and plump, like they’d been blown up with an air pump. All they needed was my go-ahead—they were ready. Josh’s too, and Zack’s as well, for that matter. The pecs were just the start—the trial run, the first phase, like tonight was for me and Josh.
Biting my lip enticingly I held back a moment, just to tease him. I gazed down my bared and beautiful torso at cousin Zack, and the guy who’d inadvertently made all this possible smiled up at me, waiting.
“We’re all yours,” I said, as used my powers to open the three of us up to all the wiles of Zack’s deepest and most impossible fantasies.
We changed a few times that night, rippling and shifting with Zack’s lusts and curiosities. He’d never had a chance to fuck a guy before—he’d only bottomed, and even then had only had a few shy encounters—and he wanted to try topping a bigger guy than himself; but then, when he’d done an extra-large version of me, all bulging white muscles from traps to ankles and a good foot taller than lanky, pec-enhanced Zack, he wanted to try being the bigger guy. He ended up being the bigger guy and then some. Luckily I had Josh to spell me, when he wasn’t having his own fun kissing us as we fucked or sucking my dick while Zack topped me. I love a big cock up my tight ass at least as much as I enjoy sliding mine up someone else’s—I’m as verse as they come, and I’d be a lousy catamite if I weren’t!—but by round three Zack was as big as an ox and his cock was the size of Eli Manning’s arm, and I could only thank my magic for ensuring Josh and I could take his eager phone pole of a dick without being split in two.
Fantasy, of course, doesn’t tire, and neither did Zack; but cuddling and making out was a part of Zack’s dream fuck, too, and the three of us spent our fair share of the evening smooching and canoodling under the covers, feeling up delectably huge muscles and enormous, indefatigable cocks, in between bouts of sweaty and occasionally anatomically impossible lovemaking. About two thirds of the way through—and this was the strangest part, to be honest—we had some unexpected company: Josh and I appeared again in the middle of Zack’s bedroom, saying they’d come to check up on us, though the way they immediately started getting naked and joining the fun told me they’d really just wanted to see if more than one set of copies could be sent along the same scarlet thread on the same night. Evidently they could. I’m not ashamed to admit I spent a very pleasant half-hour or so making out with myself while the two Joshes sandwiched Zack. It was only the breaking dawn gleaming through the bay-facing windows that convinced Zack to collapse on his bed with a happy smile, oblivious to the fact that he was still about five percent bigger all over than he’d been before (especially in the pecs) and, latently, at least ten percent hornier, as he watched us four holiday humpers disappear like we’d never been.
It was a good test run. We learned a lot—including the fact that I was innately reluctant to remerge with myself, enjoying the chance to mess around with my own nicely hung and reasonably hot Cody Claus bodies too much even after we got back to the warehouse in Buffalo. It was only after the sole, remerged Josh teased me mercilessly for my narcissism, grinning the whole time, that I merged partway, consolidating from three bodies to two. I’d get around to the final remerge eventually, I told him, as the three of us—me, me, and Josh, the two mes still in our Christmas getup—went out for coffee and waffles at the diner around the corner just as the sun started glinting redly across the waters of Lake Erie.
That night, Christmas Eve, was the big event, and the scale of it was mind-boggling. We met, literally, millions of guys. We went everywhere—London, Nairobi, Phuket, Jacksonville, São Paulo, Belgrade, Cusco, Marrakesh… We spoke all languages, met all kinds of men. Some just wanted company, some wanted to make love, some wanted fucking. We were big, small, brawny, thin, furry, scaly, multilimbed, hugely cocked, prosaically normal. It was a trip. And the best part was that, thanks to my magic—and was that owing to Zack, or Kris, or some primeval horned goddess? I had no idea now—Josh and I could be there, totally and completely, for each and every one of our guys, with nowhere else to be even though I had, that night, everywhere in the world on my list and millions of cum-loads to ensure… a lot of them my own.
Afterwards, though? That was a madhouse. It took weeks for all of us to remerge. Weeks! There’s a reason Christmas comes but once a year. Even with us remerging in batches as we returned from our trips, the warehouse was packed full of Codys and Joshes for days. Josh, meticulous CFO type that was, got all of himselves remerged by New Year’s, but I… well, I got distracted, and my remerge rate started to slow. Honestly—okay, I’ll admit it. It’s March now, and there are still four of me kicking around. Josh isn’t complaining too much, but he does like to razz me about my supposed self-obsession now and again.
Josh quit his job with the digital investment startup and is managing the numbers side of Uncle Kris’s operation—evidently there are some serious investments and a few market-dominating apps involved, and Kris needed someone on the inside who also knew the whole business world, so it was a win-win for everyone. We’re both up here in Buffalo. The warehouse came with a nice built-in loft apartment that Kris had already fixed up for the satyrs while they were in residence, and as satyrs tend to be amenities junkies the place was more than adequate even for Josh’s refined tastes. Zack visits sometimes. I think he’s curious where he fits into the whole folklore pantheon thing, though even Uncle Kris doesn’t know. Not that you can ever be sure with Uncle Kris. He does have this secret smirk when he meets up with Zack that he doesn’t even try to hide, so who knows what the truth really is.
As for me, I guess I’ve come to terms with my heritage. I am Cody Claus, and I have a role to play in sharing a bit of happiness here and there, and not just at Christmas. And if the guys I meet end up a tiny bit hunkier and hotter after they “wake up” from their dream encounter with yours truly, well… what’s the point of having carnally-themed magic if you can’t secretly make the world a little sexier? Wouldn’t you? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
In the meantime, dream your dreams of cock and sweat and muscle, and maybe, next Christmas, a hot holiday twink in snug red pants and a Santa hat will make your dreams come true for a night… if you’re very, very good.
Newlyweds Derek and Simon suspect their new house might be haunted, and after sharing a few bottles of wine one night testing that theory starts to sound like a good idea.