This is dedicated to hairy-mushroom-nose, written because of SerialXLain's Secret Santa! :3 It's...uh...oh, Lordy, I don't know. It's...Christmas crack. Let's go with that :3


Up on the rooftop, click click click,

Down through the chimney with Good Saint Nick.

Charles shot up in bed, heart pounding and eyes wide. There it came again…the thumping from his roof. Teeth clenched, he groped for the baseball bat next to his bed, cold fingers wrapping around the worn handle. He sat still for a moment, listening to the dull noise moving across his roof…sounding quite like footsteps. Licking his lips, he slowly slipped from the bed, bare feet touching the hard floor. He tightened his grip on the bat before inching toward the door of his bedroom.

The thumping came again, making Charles' heart race. A burglar on Christmas Eve? Just his fucking luck.

"I don't have anything valuable," he drawled, raising his bat to rest it on his shoulder as he headed into the living room. "Maybe you should try the neigh…bours…" His grey eyes widened as they fell on the figure standing in the middle of the room.

Saint Nicholas grinned brightly, revealing startlingly sharp teeth.

"Merry Christmas, Lotty."

Charles' eyes narrowed, mouth thin. He was suddenly feeling a lot more nervous than before.

"What are you doing here?"

Burning blue eyes sparkled as the ghoulish man's grin widened. "My job, Lotty. Don't you know I'm Santa Claus?" Thin fingers snapped, a sheet of paper appearing in the air. "And it looks like you've been a very naughty boy."

The brunet's body went cold. Everyone knew the legend of Saint Nick. To those who were good, he brought presents…to those who were not…well, no one knew what happened to them.

Charles adjusted his grip on the baseball bat, clearing his throat.

"Right. Naughty. Okay." He couldn't really think of anything more intelligent to say.

Snickering, Saint Nick swayed forward, eyes burning brighter. Shadows played across his face, making it appear even gaunter. Some figured Saint Nick was a ghoul…but no one knew for sure.

Without really realising it, Charles quickly shuffled back, blood racing as he studied the legendary man in front of him. He wasn't quite sure what to do in this situation other than do his best to defend himself with his bat.

He jumped as his back met the wall.

Bony hands encased in worn leather gripped his shoulders, pinning him to the wall. Saint Nick's head tilted to the side, eyes flicking across his face.

"You were very naughty. You've been naughty for awhile." He sighed, playfully sad. "Oh, Lotty. I gave you so many chances. Sometimes it seemed like you would change. But you never did. And this year…well, I can't give you any more chances." His sharp teeth flashed into a grin again.

"My name's not Lotty," Charles muttered, trying to stay calm. It was hard with the crazed look on Saint Nick's face.

The other man tutted, pressing closer. "Your name has so few attractive nicknames. Charlotte, on the other hand, is lovely."

Oh, Jesus, he was insane…

"Um…right. But…you sure you don't have the wrong guy?"

He yelped as his hand was suddenly slammed against the wall, baseball bat banging hollowly against the floor.

"I am never wrong," hissed Saint Nick, hips pressing sharply against Charles'.

The brunet grimaced in pain, eyes narrowed. "Let go."

The other man giggled cheerfully, red curls peeking out from the frayed trim of his threadbare velvet hat. He ground his hips harder, hands tightening around Charles' wrists.

"I'm never wrong. I have lists, Lotty. Lists that I check twice."

Teeth clenched against the pain and slowly increasing fear, Charles breathed shallowly.

"Maybe…you should check it a third time…?" His breath choked off as a hand wrapped around his throat, pressing against his windpipe. Charles' eyes watered.

"Don't play cute with me, Lotty," Saint Nick growled, slits of blue boring into him. "I don't make mistakes. And you know you've been naughty. And do you know what happens to naughty boys?"

Charles couldn't reply, his entire being focussed on trying to breathe. He…he was going to die tonight, wasn't he?

Suddenly, Saint Nick giggled again, the sound high and grating.

"I can't tell you! Because that would be giving away the surprise wouldn't it? But these is…one thing…"

His expression fell into a dark smirk as his hand slowly loosened around Charles' throat. The brunet gasped harshly, desperately dragging air into his abused lungs. He wheezed, eyes watering, barely having time to comprehend the situation before an unfamiliar mouth was suddenly crushing against his, tongue invading and sharp teeth dragging forth blood from his lips. He thrashed against the hold on him, unable to break away. But just as suddenly as Saint Nick had attacked, he pulled away, although not far enough to release the trembling brunet.

Charles' bravado was quickly fading.

"Who the fuck gave you the title of saint?" he muttered, wishing he could just sink back into the wall and disappear. "You're a fucking nutcase. You really are a ghoul, aren't you? Or maybe a demon?"

The so-called saint licked his lips, tongue catching the traces of Charles' blood staining his mouth. "I'm far more saintly than you, Lotty love." The brunet sucked his stomach in out of surprise when a finger pressed against it, tracing idly. "You've got the soul of a sinner."

"No, I don't," Charles hissed, lie sitting heavily on his tongue.

Saint Nick cackled, pressing close once again. "Oh, yes you do! You're on my Naughty List, Lotty! Naughty naughty naughty."

"Shut up!"

"You can't make me," taunted the other man, grin growing wider and wider. "I'm gonna take you away. Do you know what I do with the naughty ones?"

Jaw clenched, Charles stiffly shook his head. Saint Nick's eyes twinkled.

"I like you. Maybe you'll stay with me."

Charles body stiffened. "Hell no!"

Sighing, the other man traced the brunet's lips, pressing roughly against the cuts. Charles flinched, the metallic taste tainting his tongue. "I decide the fate of my Naughty List. I wasn't asking."

Charles' hands pressed against Saint Nick's bony chest, breath harsh and shallow.

"No. Get away from me.

"You can't get away," Saint Nick taunted, voice rising and falling in a sing-song. "And I get so lonely." His eyebrow quirked along with his lips. "And I know you do. What you did to your poor boyfriend…"

Charles swallowed, face flushed. "That…" He had no excuse.

Saint Nick hummed, snickering. "Ho ho ho, you're a ho ho ho."

"What do you know about it?" Charles demanded, anger pounding through him. "Maybe no one's good enough!"

"Maybe you're not good enough, sinner!" retorted Saint Nick, tone bright and gleeful. "You're so defensive, even though you know exactly what you've done. So many bad things, Lotty! So very naughty. And now it's time to make up for that." The redhead leaned forward, tongue sliding across Charles' cheek. "You're gonna pay for all of your evil, Lotty."

"Stop that!" he snapped, head snapping to the side. "Don't touch me!"

Psychotic blue eyes rolled as a hand suddenly dipped into the front of Charles' loose pyjama pants. The brunet gasped, body jolting.

"You're on my Naughty List. So you're mine." His hand pressed against Charles' groin as if to emphasise the point. "Now, really, will you behave? I have to get to everyone's house before morning! And your behaviour is just increasing your punishment."

Charles' teeth dug into his lip, eyes mere slits. He couldn't believe that he was reacting…he blamed the feel of leather against his sensitive skin.

He suddenly realised he was being yanked forward, one of Saint Nick's arms stretched out, holding open a large, patched, and ominous sack. It was only as he was being shoved inside that the reality of the situation finally hit him: he was being taken away by Saint Nick in his sack…and he didn't know what was going to happen to him.

The drawstring was pulled shut, plunging Charles into darkness.

Christmas morning dawned bright and cheerful. Light snow sprinkled the ground as families gathered together around their trees and tables, eating and opening presents.

But in Charles' apartment, only silence remained…and a trail of footprints leading to the fireplace, stained with drops of blood.

Ho ho ho, who wouldn't go?

Up on the rooftop, click click click,

Down through the chimney with Good Saint Nick.