A SPANKSTERS CHRISTMAS (Patreon)

Aren't they just the sweetest? 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

i.

“If I dressed up as Rudolph, would fucking me be like. . .that wouldn’t be pet play would it? Or is that borderline beastiality?” 

“What the hell are you on about, Babe?” 

Harry folded the copy of After Dark by Murakami closed, holding the front cover with his thumb and his index finger bookmarking the page he was on. The night was cold but it was as expected in December, when being outside for more than five minutes meant rosy cheeks and chattered teeth. There was an icy rain that beat against his bedroom window and a biting wind that whistles through the seams of the sill. All day Harry had been waiting to shrug out of his coat, toe off his snow-covered boots, take a hot bath with a cup of lavender salt - one of them that works the deep muscle aches out and crawl into bed. 

About halfway through his day he had realized he had yet to invite Y/N over (even though she practically lives with him, so an invitation was rarely ever necessary), so he messaged her while he had a Caprese salad during a break in the studio. Told her to set up shop there before the storm if she was free and Y/N had sent a picture of her face in frame, a closed mouth grin all wide and terribly unflattering (which was her goal), but her eyes were puffy from sleep and she was cocooned in her blanket. It made his heart flutter, as he bit over a slice of tomato, and knuckled at the juice that trails down his chin. It had only furthered his excitement to get home. . .hell, he thinks he might trade in the bath if he had to, if that meant he could cuddle with Y/N the rest of the night (and he loves his baths). 

So he had hurried home, only to be met with Y/N cooking shepherd's pie (which she was surprisingly an expert at) and a few  grocery bags on his kitchen table. She grinned, nodding towards the bags with a sing-song of, “I got some things for youuuuuuuuu!” And of course, Harry immediately took to them. He rustled the bags open to find a collection of items that Y/N had picked up, including a thick pair of sherpa Christmas sock booties striped like candy canes, two bags of peanut clusters, a Christmas cookie candle, peppermint hand scrub, a fifty pack of his favorite herbal tea, and the biggest bag of lavender epsom salt he had ever encountered. She had outdone herself, much like when Harry had boohooed about not having his Christmas tree up yet but being too lazy to go through fixing it together with the lights. He had come home a day later to Y/N having not only set it up, but strung the lights on, and had about three dozen new ornaments organized in a box for them to put on the tree together -- hell,  she had even given him her good tree skirt. 

(It was white with red and green embroidered reindeer dancing along the lining. When she had volunteered at a nursing home one of the residents had been so taken by her, they spent all November working on it for her and gave it to her as a present.) 

Harry saddled up behind her as she cooked and blew kisses into her neck until she shrugged away from him, giggling. It was moments like these where Harry thinks he is the luckiest bloke alive to have her in his life, and for her to want to stick around him on top of that. Even if by all technicalities they were not “official” he couldn’t imagine spending this much time with anyone else and not wanting to scream into a pillow. He had been in a lot of fucked relationships prior to him and Y/N deciding to do what they do, and Y/N knew as much. They were friends before so he would tell her when things turned sour or if he needed someone to cry it out with, she was always there, always catered to him, and never made him feel like his partner might at the time. When he was with Y/N, he never felt unwanted or clingy or selfish. No, when he was with Y/N, all he had ever felt was warmth and understanding and love -- she was the most thoughtful person he’d ever met and he tries to give her back what she dishes out in excess, to make up for all the people who don’t make the effort in returning her kindness. 

(It’s why he was planning a trip to France the coming Spring, around the time the Cherry blossoms bloom because those are her favorites, and she’s always wanted to try authentic chocolate mousse.) 

“What’s all this for, huh?” He questioned her, “How’d I get such a sweet girl in me house?” 

She shrugged, “Just felt like doing somethin’ special for you, is all.” 

They ate together at his kitchen table after he had decluttered it and they could hear the weather from where Y/N had kept the TV turned to high volume from the den so that she could hear while she cooked. They said that the storm had just blown in, hitting a few parts of town currently and from the skylights in his kitchen they could see where snow had begun to speckle the glass. Y/N’s brows raise some before she locks eyes with his own widened gaze, “Good thing I just about bought everything we could need to last being iced in - had to body check a mother of three for canned corn and water jugs.” 

There is not one other person he could imagine being snowed in with and have a nice time. 

Momentarily they part ways; Y/N takes about a ten minute shower as Harry fills up his jacuzzi tub and filling with bubbles and epsom salt, lighting a few of his pink sugar spun candles and seating them on the edge. It wasn’t like his day was particularly poor but the cold always drew him far more weary than usual, and meetings had never been his favorite part of his job. Plus there was the additional stress of the holidays, constant speculation about him and his personal life with a new album coming out and as open and vulnerable he wants to be -- to do so is exhausting. There was always the nerves of people liking the songs as well, that drove him out of his mind with worry, and no matter Y/N assuring him that it was going to be okay, he was shit at getting out of his own head sometimes. 

Unless Y/N did absolutely everything in her power to make him forget about it. 

As he had stepped into the steamy water and sunk down to his nipples, running a sudsy hand over his face with a long deep breath, Y/N had popped in. In her hands she wielded his rose shampoo and conditioner and a comb, donned in one of his robes, “D’ya want me to wash your hair in like ten minute?” 

Harry thinks his cheeks might have split if he grinned any harder, nodding enthusiastically while he began to sink lower into the water to wet his hair. Y/N set up shop beside him, disappeared for ten minutes, returned, plopped her bum down onto the edge of the tub and popped open the cap of his shampoo. This was something she had introduced to him a few months ago - she had an affinity for washing other people’s hair for relaxation of her own, and Harry was one keen on having his locks given any attention in the slightest. Warm water dripped down his back as she squirted a glob into her hand, rubbing her palms together before she works it into a lather in his hair. Her nails ran gentle against his scalp, running them in circles, fanning her fingers outward and inward, massaging his scalp. He could feel it getting foamy in the strands and let his eyes flutter shut, focused on his breathing. 

Y/N was quiet as she washed his hair, quiet when she guided him down to rinse and repeat, and giggled when he whined at conditioner slipping down his temple from her palm.  It was peaceful and calming and relieved every bit of tension Harry had felt from the day had disappeared. 

After his bath and after he thanked her about a trillion times, he got dressed in his warm flannel pajama pants and the soft grey shirt that accompanied it, now equipped with his new sherpa socks. By the time he had walked out of the bathroom, Y/N was already on the bed (a Wyoming king that she absolutely adored), dressed for bed in her coziest pajamas, on her side typing on her laptop. Harry crawled in beside her, smooched her on the cheek in a series of sloppy pecks that made her squeal before grabbing his book off the bed table. 

It was wholesome and sweet and they had been living in each other’s presence. 

That’s why he had been startled by her question. 

“Like,” she began, pushing her laptop from her thighs and setting it on the navy blue duvet, “I got the get up and everything today and I was goin’ to surprise you with it, but then I realized that Rudolph was a Reindeer when I put on the antlers and like - is that a turn off? I wanted to be festive but then I realized you’ve never said you wanted to fuck Rudolph.”

Harry stares at her for a moment before he coughs out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, “I just -- you are something aren’t you?” He meant it wholeheartedly, reaching out and squeezing her thigh, and he found himself feeling soft from her taking care of him all day, but now he wanted to to turn the tables. Flip the dynamic and there is one way he knows how to do it efficiently and effectively, that sends her all warm and fuzzy and floaty. He dog ears his book page, facing her how she was facing him and skating his fingers behind her neck, drawing her to his mouth and locking their lips together. As he does so, he plays and fiddles with the hair at her nape. He hums against her mouth, suckling her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbling down. Instead of indulging her when the tip of her tongue flicks at his top lip, he parts and pecks a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “You wanted to surprise, Daddy, yeah? Why is that?” 

She sees where it’s going and sinks into it effortlessly. 

“I like surprising you, Daddy,” she murmurs, leaning in and rubbing her nose to his, “S’a naughty surprise though.” 

“Mm,” he hums gently, “Why don’t you got put it on for me then?” 

His cock thrums in his pajamas as she scrambles out of bed excitedly and Harry revels in how quickly they can fall into things. That’d always been something he marveled at - one moment she could be just regular her, making filthy jokes, asking if he considered her dressed as Rudolph would be pet play and the next, all he has to do is sweet talk her and touch her just right and she’s putty. 

So Harry readjust his growing cock, leans into the group of pillows, and patiently waits for her.

And when the door creeps open from the bathroom, he thinks he could have came right there.