I follow him inside, trying to keep my eyes on my feet rather than on the miles of bare skin and muscle that is his back. Easier said than done.
“We can’t seem to get online at all,” he says as we make our way down the hall. “Computers won’t talk to each other over the internal system either.”
Okay, so both internet and intranet are - oh Crispy Crackers! Rorik is standing inside what I assume is the server room. The main server - at least I think that’s what it is or was - in the middle of the room seems to have been the victim of a temper tantrum. Somebody has removed the back and left most of its insides scattered… well… everywhere to be honest. The floor, the tables, on top of a couple of other computers. The top of the nearby table is a mess of wires and cables and what looks like a motherboard that has been snapped in two. Even in the carnage, though, I can see it’s an older system that has been cobbled together over a period of time, all but held together with tape. Forget why the damned thing isn’t working; my question is how did it work in the first place?
“I assume the servers weren’t in pieces when the problem first started?” The question isn’t as stupid or as patronizing as it sounds. I’ve had clients who have complained their screen isn’t working and a few questions later admit that it was working fine until they dropped it.
“Yeah.” He looks embarrassed. “Basil kind of lost his patience with it last night.”
No kidding. It looks like a kid threw a jigsaw puzzle in the air.
“Do you think you can do anything with it?” Rorik looks at me, hopefully.
“I won’t know until I have a closer look. I’ll need the master log-in details.”
Rorik looks around the room, spots what he’s looking for - a small notebook - and throws it at me. Flicking through it, I shudder. Apparently, all of Rorik’s passwords are in here.
“You need a safer way of storing your passwords. I can set one up for you if you like.”
“Knock yourself out.” He looks down at his towel - and his now dry but no less naked chest - and grins. “I’ll just go get dressed and be right back.”
Dressed. Yes. Dressed would be good. Dressed would be so good.
As his footsteps fade away, I start prodding at the mess. Within minutes I’m starting to form an idea of the problem and how to fix it. Don’t ask me how or why I understand computers, I just do. My Human friends joke about magic, and my Elf friends assume it’s magic, but it’s not. It is in fact, just me. Computers make sense to me. Humans and Elves not so much.
I don’t hear him return but I’m suddenly aware of his presence. I look up and he’s standing on the other side of the table holding two cups of something that smells divine and turns out to be the best cocoa I’ve ever tasted. My relief at seeing him dressed fades when I see the low hung gray sweats and a bright red hoodie that would swamp me but somehow clings to him. While he was out of the room, I was able to have a conversation with my cock about settling down, a conversation that apparently was a waste of time. Nobody should look that good in sweats.
“I thought you looked like you could use a hot drink. I’ll leave you in peace, I’ll be in my office if you need me. It’s just next door if you need anything.”
Nodding, I put my cup down next to a nest of wires and go back to clearing a mass of crumbs out of the back of the server. Had Basil - whoever the hell he is - been eating while he attacked this poor thing? I don’t really have time to consider the question because the peace Rorik mentioned is shattered by him making a phone call. Whoever told that Elf that he could whisper, lied. He can’t. I’m fairly sure half of The Grove can hear him. And he’s talking to Lars. About me.
Did he just say I’m hot?
The little spark of excitement I feel in my chest needs to go away. This is Rorik. Rorik Eskildsen. Rorik the Red. Santa Claus. He has more notches on his belt than there are baubles on the Christmas tree in the square, and something of a reputation for being generous with his affection - male, female, Human, Elf. I think he might draw the line at Gremlin, and I’m damned sure he draws it at skinny, awkward, computer nerds - of any variety. Sighing, I remind myself that it’s irrelevant anyway. I’m here to fix the network so Christmas can happen, not to fantasize about what Santa looks like in a towel. Well, maybe I can collect a few visuals for you know… later… but spank bank images don’t count. Right?
I try to block his voice out and to concentrate on the mess in front of me. To buy myself some time I crouch down and prod one of the discarded circuit boards. I’m going to have to restore all the hardware to working order before I can even look at overhauling the network, but I think I can fix it.
“Can you fix it?”
I jump about a foot in the air. Crispy crackers! For such a big guy with such a loud voice, he has a quiet tread. Which I guess if I’m honest is kind of a good thing, what with all the sneaking into houses and leaving presents and stuff. I shut my eyes, count to five, warn my stupid cock to behave, and turn to face him.
“Yeah, I think so. Looks like a combina –”
He holds his hand up. “Spare me. You may as well be speaking a different language. Just tell me if you can fix it and how long it will take.”
I shrug. “A day? Maybe two, but I doubt it. I won’t know for sure until I’ve run a full diagnostic.”
Rorik folds his arms and leans against the doorjamb. Even in the hoodie, I can see his biceps flex which does not help my ability to focus at all.
“So, you’ll take the job? Lars didn’t say last night if you had room for a new client - or about your rate.”
Last night? Lars organized this last night?
Oh, I’m definitely going to kill him.
Straightening up, I square my shoulders. Business. This is business; I can handle it. Even with Rorik just two feet away and watching me closely.
I run through a list of the things I currently have on the go. A couple of PCs that I’ve been tinkering with in the evenings. Leif Amias wants an app that will let him check arrow to romance ratios while he’s working. I like Leif, even if he is a bit gloomy, which is weird for a Chief Cupid. I would have thought being around all that love would make you happy. Mind you, I suck at love, so what would I know?
Pascal Hare has been bugging me to take a look at the Easter database for weeks. He says there’s something screwy with it. The only thing screwy is him thinking I buy his story. I built the database and monitor it from home. It’s fine which means he’s just trying to get me to go to one of his orgies. Or to look at his Only Fans page. I’m not doing either of those things, so he can wait.
The remaining three or four clients are Human. Andy and Joe - the two Human techs who work for me - can handle them.
Fitting Rorik in shouldn't be too difficult. Depends if he’s proportional or not, my traitorous and every unhelpful imagination whispers. My cheeks heat up at the mere thought, which is kind of pathetic. If I blush at something I'm only thinking about, what would happen if I said it out loud? Spontaneous combustion?
Rorik clicks his fingers in front of my eyes. “Where did you go, Small One?”
Small One? What the heck?
“I’m not that small,” I protest.
Rorik leans into my space, filling it with the scent of pine needles, peppermint, and snow. Because of course that’s what he smells like.
“You’re smaller than me.” A smirk spreads across his features. “You were going to tell me if you could fit me in and what it was going to cost me.”
Definitely killing Lars. I force myself to look up at Rorik.
“Yes, I can take you.” Two can play that game. I ignore the way his eyes darken and make a quick calculation in my head then give him the figure. He frowns as I start tossing bits of computer junk in a box.
“That’s all? Are you sure?”
“Well, if we need to replace hardware or something, it might go a bit higher, but I’ll run it past you first.”
Rorik snorts. “Small One, at the price you just quoted y
ou can replace the whole fucking system and I’ll still come out on top.”
I fumble the box, spilling the contents on the floor again. He really needs to stop talking like that - and he can lose that ‘Small One’ thing too. Scrabbling to pick things up, I stammer out my plan.
“I can get started in about an hour if that works for you.” Confusion wipes the smirk from his face. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to help, so I’m really not prepared. I need to get the rest of my gear and change into my work clothes. Feed Button. Put some laundry in the machine. Make my bed.”
Way to go with the babbling, Boden. I’m never answering the phone in the morning again. Ever.
“Feed who?” That whole ‘Santa knows everything’ is obviously wildly overexaggerated. I think. I hope.
“My dog. Look if I go now, I can be back here by ten to get started."
“Perfect. I’ll let Winston on the gate know to expect you back.”
He holds his hand out and after only a brief hesitation, I take it. My hand disappears into his; it’s like putting on a warm, strong glove. Unable to think, let alone speak, I stand there, staring at our hands and wondering what it must feel like to be held in his arms.
Rorik lets go of my hand and disappointment washes over me. I look up at him.
“Small One -”
“Stop calling me that.”
He smiles down at me. “Boden, you’d best get going before the next flurry hits.”
What? Going? Flurry? Huh? Oh! Home. Right. I nod.
“I’ll be back by ten.” I spin on my heel and walk straight into the edge of the door. Ignoring the chuckle behind me and rubbing my head, I stalk down the hallway and yank open the front door. The flurry, it seems, has already started.
It’s going to be a long day.
RORIK
I hate technology. Always have done. Tweets and likes and shares and inboxes and dongles and widgets - ugh! Give me a good, old-fashioned handwritten letter and a pinch of magic and I’m good to go. The Human world, however, has other ideas, so I’m stuck with it. Which, now that there is a very cute little IT Elf around instead of Basil and his foul temper, might not be so bad.
As far as I’m concerned, the servers only have two purposes: to make my computer network function and to drive me crazy. They’ve always been much better at the second than the first. Normally I avoid them and the room they’re in, with much the same fervor as I avoid that little shit, Hare. But, by mid-afternoon it’s a miracle I haven’t worn a track into the carpet, I’ve spent so much time walking up and down between my office and the server room.
Boden is unbearably cute. His bedhead hair now resembles a haystack because when he’s concentrating, he tugs on it, and when he’s annoyed, he drags his fingers through it. The three sweaters have been replaced by a long-sleeved thermal t-shirt, the sleeves of which are pushed to his elbows every few minutes, just to drop back to his wrists seconds later. The way his slacks cling to his ass when he bends over is near obscene. There’s no line suggesting shorts or briefs and since I have a hard time imagining my little geek going commando, that has to mean a thong of some sort. That thought sends me straight back to my bedroom to deal with a problem that has suddenly popped up.
Kicking the door shut behind me, I throw myself on the bed and shove my sweats down my thighs. I fumble for the bottle of lube in the nightstand drawer, cock twitching as I squirt some into the palm of my hand. As much as I’d like to take my time and draw this out, a day of being in close proximity to an Elf who looks like he walked straight off one of my Pinterest boards makes it impossible. The vision of Boden dances in my mind as I stroke myself, smearing pre-cum and lube along my shaft. What does he taste like I wonder? His tongue, his skin, his hole. His cock. Does he like his nipples played with? I pinch my own with my free hand and groan at the jolt of pleasure it sends through me.
Is he quiet or noisy? I imagine him as quiet but not silent, making soft whimpering sounds as I take the head of his cock into my mouth. I tighten my grip and stroke a little faster. In my fantasy, we’re in the server room and I have him against the wall, slacks around his knees as I suck him. His moans would be as pretty as he is when I slip my fingers back and caress the puckered skin around his hole.
In my mind, I press my fingertips in and up against his gland, making him come in my mouth with his fingers pulling on my hair. In my hand, my cock stiffens even more, and I bite back a yell as my own orgasm explodes from me. Hot, sharp spurts of cum soak the hem of my hoodie and splatter on my belly. Fuck, that feels good.
I lie there, drowsily stroking my cock and wondering why I promised Lars I would behave.
I clean myself up, change into a clean sweater, and make my way to the office wing. On a hunch, I swing past the kitchen. Astrid, my cook, is flicking through a cookbook and sipping a mug of what I know will be peppermint tea. Surprise at seeing me changes to a knowing smirk when I ask for a plate of nibbles for two and two mugs of Irish coffee.
“So, is he as cute as they say?” she asks, pulling things from the pantry.
“Who said anything about him being cute? I’m just being nice.” Who did say anything? They can back off. I have dibs… sort of. Stupid damned promise.
She snorts and starts slicing salami. “Is nice what you’re calling it now?”
Astrid has worked for our family since before I was born, and I have no doubt she would agree with Lars about my reputation. I reach out for a cracker only to get my fingers slapped for my trouble.
Shaking her head at me, she adds a plate of chocolate petit fours to the tray, then begins measuring whiskey into the coffee mugs.
“Remember the whipped cream.”
“Don’t I always?”
“First time for everything.”
She comes around the counter to hand me the tray.
“You behave!”
I roll my eyes; that phrase is getting old. “Don’t I always?”
Astrid tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “First time for everything.”
Leaving her to cackle into her cookbooks I return to the server room. Cross-legged on a chair, tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth, Boden is screwing the back on one of the smaller units.
Not wanting to scare him yet again, I clear my throat. He looks up from what he’s doing; a smile lights up his features. I catch my breath. Gods, he’s cute!
“Time for a coffee break, Small One.”
Color creeps up his cheeks and he protests again at the title, but he can’t hide the flash of heat in his eyes. He likes it even if he doesn’t want to admit to it.
“Nice sweater,” he mumbles.
I’m surprised he’s noticed; does this mean he’s been looking at me? The idea doesn’t displease me at all.
“Thanks. I spilled something on the other one.” I put the tray down and pull up one of the spare chairs. After a moment of silence, he finishes tightening the screw, puts the unit on the floor, pushes the other things on the table away from the tray, and picks up his cup. If I’d been thinking, I might have warned him that it wasn’t cocoa. Maybe. But I’m too busy thinking about ways to make him smile again and don’t realize he’s taken a huge gulp of the alcohol-laced beverage until he sprays most of it over the table.
"What's that?" he stammers, eyes streaming. He’s obviously not much of a drinker. Why am I not surprised?
“Irish coffee. Sorry, I probably should have warned you. Astrid can be a bit heavy-handed.”
The expression on his face as mops up the table and the front of his t-shirt suggests he’s not buying my apology, so I nudge the plate in his direction. When he sees the petit fours, his eyes widen. Most Elves have a sweet tooth - me included - and it would seem Boden is no different.
“The ones on the end have salted caramel inside.” I tell him, smiling at his hesitation. Boden takes one and pops it in his mouth. Seconds later, the room is filled with a low, sensuous moan that makes my mouth go dry and my cock twitch. Fuck! If he makes that soun
d again, I’ll be headed back to my bedroom.
Thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead he swallows - which is almost as bad, I track the movement of his throat and adjust myself under the table - and takes another, more cautious sip of coffee.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Well, I’ve got everything back together so I can take a look at the actual network now. I’ve replaced some of the sockets and a couple of motherboards, I hope that’s okay.” He helps himself to a cracker topped with a wedge of brie. “I don’t mean to criticize, but I don’t think Basil really knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes, well you may not be entirely wrong there.” About an hour ago I came up with what I think is a brilliant plan and might just solve not only my IT issues but get me around that stupid promise. “How would you feel about taking over managing the IT? We could set up a retainer and then you could charge for anything that goes over that.”
Boden narrows his eyes and studies me.
“Um… I… uh… I need to see what the problem is first. I don’t know.”
“Okay but will you think about it?”
A non-committal shrug is all he’ll give me. Before I can say anything more, the air is filled with the sound of bells. Damned phone with its stupid ringtone. I pat my pockets looking for the cursed thing and tap the screen. Benny from down in warehousing is on the other end.
“Boss, Basil’s here. Asked me to let you know he’s on the way up.”
“Thanks, Benny.” I hang up. “Well, no rest for the wicked and all that shit. Think about it, Small One?”
“Don’t call me Small One,” he says, picking up the discarded screwdriver.
Cute. Gods, he is so fucking cute.
BODEN
I don’t know where Rorik disappears to, but I assume he doesn’t want me to hear him talking to Basil, The Slayer of Servers. My curiosity fades as I turn my attention back to switching on the system and, hopefully, finishing the job.
Naughty & Nice: A Holiday Storybook Novella Page 2