Mistletoe & Mischief

by Selena Page

  “How many times do you think she’s going to faint when he tells her how much money we’ve given her?”

  “Enough that it’s a good thing his special talent is in healing.”

  Iowin laughed, pulling her in close. “Merry Christmas, my darling wife.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she returned. “And god bless us, everyone.”

  He kissed her deeply and took her hand. As they walked away, neither one noticed the single flash of kiss-light drifting up from where they stood, casting aside the early morning shadows with love.

  THE COCK BLOCKING FAIRY

  Miriam & Rafe

  Miriam and Rafe tumbled onto a wire frame bed in the Caprice family attic. The mattress creaked and released a plume of dust. But they didn't care about dirt or cobwebs. They only cared about being with each other. He grasped for her hips. She found his lips and promised never to let them go.

  This was their first sliver of alone time since arriving in Saratoga Springs, and they weren't going to waste it. Cousins had picked them up at the airport. Her aunts hovered around Rafe, ferreting out whatever they could about what it might mean to be an angel. Her uncles kept a watchful eye on her. Every meal was a gaggle of Caprice they could never escape. Until tonight--Christmas Eve--when twinkling lights and glitter wrapping kept the rest of the house preoccupied with all the other shiny things of the season.

  After dinner was their only chance to have each other for dessert. Miriam buried her tongue into Rafe's mouth. His lips were still sweet from molasses-glazed ham and cranberry sauce. "You kind of make me want to go downstairs for seconds," she said.

  Suddenly, he grabbed her thigh and flipped her onto her stomach so he could get behind her. The bed rocked, knocking over a lamp precariously balanced between a box and the frame. It clattered onto the floor.

  "Shhh!" Miriam froze.

  Rafe swatted her ass.

  She yelped. "I mean it."

  "No one can hear us."

  "I don't want to get caught."

  "Or we make getting caught worth it, Liebling," he said, letting the pet-name drift off his German tongue.

  He nuzzled his face into the back of her neck as he pressed his hardening cock against her ass. She liked the weight of him. How it pinned her to the old bed. How it gave her the excuse to struggle against him without any real chance of escape. The attic clutter only added to the arousing feeling of entrapment. Boxes stuffed with the memories of Caprice pasts shielded them from the present, and formed a refuge where they could be themselves while they fumbled through the first steps of their relationship.

  Rafe's hands slipped under her shirt to drag his fingernails lightly down her sides. She squealed, wiggled and grabbed a pillow to hit him. But, when she lifted it, hidden underneath was a mess of torn magazine pages. Each one was similar to the next. Blond bombshells and oversized silicon tits covered the pages. A platinum centerfold with a girl-next-door smile spread wide for the camera. A honey-haired secretary lay on a desk with a pencil clenched between her veneers and pair of glasses balanced on her surgeon-approved nose

  "What the shit is this?" Miriam asked as Rafe’s hot lips left a trail of kisses along the small of her back.

  His tongue flicked across a patch of skin at the base of her spine. "A man with a profound need to get these jeans off of you." He gripped her ass again.

  She tried to twist around, but couldn't. He wouldn’t let her. So, she rattled one of the pages over her shoulder to catch his attention. "I mean this."

  He snatched it out of her hands. "Nice face."

  "You're so not looking at her face."

  Again, he swatted her. The sting was delicious. "I have no interest in too skinny and all fake. Not when I can sink my teeth into this big, beautiful ass." He bit her left cheek. Her jeans kept it from being more than a pinch, but she yelped anyway from the pleasure of it. The page skittered across the floor.

  "There is a whole stack of them," she said.

  "So? Ignore them." He massaged the backs of her thighs, inching his way toward where they met.

  She loved when he teased her, and it was almost enough to pull her attention away, but it was so weird. Each girl looked so much like the next. "Who do you think--"

  Suddenly, Rafe gripped her between the legs. "Stop. I don't care. Neither should you."

  It sent a rush of heat through her and forced a lusty moan from her. Miriam arched into his palm with the hope he'd give her more. His fingertips moved in circles with such strength she could feel them against her clit even with a layer of denim keeping her chaste.

  "Squeeze her cheeks!" A tiny voice exclaimed.

  Miriam whipped a glance over her shoulder at Rafe. He was still all sexy smirk and stroking fingers. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

  He froze. "I thought it was the voices." He may have staved off Hell by binding himself to her, but his connection from its denizens hadn't snapped completely. The voices pushing him to darker deeds hadn't gone away.

  "Give 'em a jiggle!" There it was again, that tiny voice.

  Rafe’s head turned, scanning the space.

  "There," he whispered, nodding toward a garden flower print hatbox atop a tower of steamer trunks. Lounging on the curved edge, as if resting on the petal of a rose, a pixie with dragonfly wings waved at them. He wore ill-fitting red long johns made for a doll. The sleeves were too short and legs were too long. He also had them on backward with the flap in front.

  "Get out of here," Rafe hissed at him.

  Miriam balled up a centerfold and threw it at him like a baseball. He flapped his wings and zipped out of the way. She tried again, crumpling another page. "Go annoy someone else." The ball soared wide, missing him completely. "Dammit."

  "Here. Count of three. One." Rafe grabbed a four-panel spread of a coed in her dorm room. "Two." He crushed the page into a tight ball.

  The pixie shrieked. "No! Not Pamela!"

  "Three."

  They threw at the same time. As the pixie juked right, Miriam's toss beaned him in the head, sending him into a tailspin. His momentum took him smashing past a coat rack where he crash-landed out of sight.

  The attic fell silent. It was the longest minute of their lives as they listened for any sign of him.

  Miriam leaned in close, whispering, "I think he learned his lesson."

  Rafe turned a hot gaze on her and pushed her back down on the bed. "But have you learned yours?"

  She pushed the magazine pages to the floor. "My lesson?"

  "Which list will I find your name on?" He lifted her shirt so he could kiss down her stomach.

  "Tonight?" She snickered. "Definitely naughty."

  He tugged at her jeans like a man who couldn't wait to bury his face, going immediately for her button and zipper. The button came loose easily, but when he tugged on the zipper, the pull-tab broke off. "Guess I don't know my own strength," he said.

  Hooking her fingernail into the broken slider to push it down, she tried to help. It wouldn't budge.

  He shoved her hand away. "Let me do it."

  "But--"

  "Hush. I have this." He fought with her zipper and still nothing.

  "Just use your finger."

  "I plan to use more than my finger."

  "That's not--"

  "Zip it." His green eyes narrowed on her.

  She grinned. "Unzip, Rafe, un-zip."

  But, he couldn't manage it. "Fucking Hell, I am going to tear these pants off you."

  "Let me."

  "No. You're getting a new pair." He gripped both sides of her waistband and ripped the zipper open. The slider snapped and popped off. The denim crotch tore open, and just as he was about to give her the kiss she had wanted all night, out popped the red pajama-ed pixie from between her thighs.

  "Die Arschmade!" Rafe swiped at him, but the dragonfly wings buzzed past his hand.

  He twirled and laughed as he soared through the air. "Gimme a show! Don't be so slow!"

  Miriam shrieked. "That li
ttle asshole! Get him!" While Rafe leaped from the bed, she kicked off her pants to join the hunt.

  The pixie dove into a pile of old dolls next to a set of vintage golf clubs.

  "Grab the 9 iron," she said.

  Rafe paused, knowing the effect iron could have on wee folk. "That escalated quickly."

  "The pervert was in my panties."

  "9 iron it is." He snatched the club from the bag. It was vintage but showed no signs of rust. Quickly, he closed on the pixie, swung and connected solidly. His swing sent the tiny creature sailing across the attic to smack into an electrical combiner box and fall onto a stack of books.

  "Parlay!" he yelled feebly. One of his wings was bent, and he cradled his shoulder and arm. Tears poured from his eyes as he curled into a ball. Seeing the small guy in pain sent a pang of guilt through Miriam even if she wasn’t interested in feeling it.

  “Alright, little guy,” she said. "You got a name?”

  “Joe,” he answered.

  “Joe?” Rafe's eyebrows pulled together. “Not Mustard Seed or Tinker Bell or some other pixie name? Just...Joe?”

  The fairy nodded, and Miriam sighed.

  “Alright," she said. "Why don’t you just go, and we’ll pretend this never happened. No one else needs to get hurt. Deal?”

  Joe extended his good hand toward Rafe who frowned warily but placed the iron golf club under his arm, sticking out a finger to shake on it.

  Except, Joe didn't take his finger. Instead, he let forth a maniacal cackle and flew full tilt into Rafe’s crotch. “If you aren’t going to use it, I’ll abuse it!”

  Any ounce of mercy faded from Miriam as Rafe doubled over. “Oh shit. Are you alright?”

  He waved her off as he slowly and very, very carefully straightened. “I’m fine.” He recovered, but only with teeth clenched and rage to fuel it. Lifting the club again, he swung wide and hard, knocking over stacks of books and boxes.

  Miriam called to the power of air. "Force of wind, you will grow. In a tornado, you will blow. I bind your gusts to this role, and place you under my control."

  Motes of dust lazing in the beam of the attic light bulb stirred. The air in the enclosed space roused to a breeze. As she repeated the incantation, the whirlwind grew in strength. A few smaller swirls pulled into a dust devil. "Force of wind, you will grow," she chanted as she lifted her hands to control its growth. "In a tornado, you will blow." The miniature twister sucked an assortment of loose trinkets, old newspapers and even the torn magazine pages into itself. "I bind your gusts to this role, and place you under my control." Every piece of cardboard box Rafe ripped through with the club became part of Miriam's storm.

  "Get ready," she called over the rush of wind. Then, Miriam shoved both her hands in the direction of the fairy. The tornado spun across the attic, hurling itself toward the pixie, and flinging everything that wasn't nailed down. But even with a broken wing, Joe had the advantage.

  Quick and lithe, he zipped around Miriam's brute magical force and whizzed by Rafe's head. Rafe, working on pure adrenaline, swung the club on reflex alone. Missing Joe, he connected with an antique clock. It exploded in a spray of shards and metal gears. Joe flew into the rafters.

  Miriam winced and froze. The wind died in a sigh of settling pieces of paper and debris. "That clock had been in my family for five generations."

  "I was trying to hit him, not it," Rafe said defensively. "Why isn’t it on a mantle somewhere?"

  "Because witch reasons."

  “Should we tell your family?”

  “Absolutely not,” she declared.

  How her family had yet to hear the ruckus was anyone's guess. Though, listening closely, she was pretty sure she could hear the faintest strained caterwauling of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, her grandmother’s favorite carol. She stared at the shattered clock in defeat.

  "Gimme a show and no one will know. Fix a clock, avoid a shock," Joe sing-songed from his hiding spot above them.

  "What do you mean, fix a clock?"

  Joe peeked at Miriam through a cobweb, his expression grave. In a low voice, he said, "I have a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you."

  Miriam looked to Rafe. "Hit him."

  Rafe wound for another swing.

  Joe cried out. "No! Wait! I’m sorry!"

  She held up a hand to Rafe. "Alright, Joe. You have one last chance to explain."

  He puffed his chest proudly. "I can fix the clock."

  "OK. Then--"

  "For a price."

  Miriam sneered. "What price?"

  "I want to giggle while he gives you a jiggle." Joe grabbed the air in front of his hips and gave it a good thrusting to bring the point home.

  "Oh my God, no. "

  "Why not? You want to do it. I want to see it. We all win when we live in sin."

  Rafe interjected, "Now, I've had enough."

  But, the mention of living in sin sparked an idea. If he was obsessed with big-breasted blonds, there was one company that made pixie-sized girlfriends. That was Mattel.

  Miriam wrapped her arms around Rafe from behind. Sliding her hands under his shirt, she caressed his abs. "Prove to us you can fix the clock, and maybe we'll consider it."

  Rafe did a small double take over his shoulder. "We're considering this?"

  Miriam kept her focus on the pixie. "Prove it, and we'll think about letting you watch while this hunk of man-cake jiggles the fuck out of me."

  Joe's eyes popped with all the gadzook-drama of a cartoon. Then, with a flourish of his hand, he released a sparkling shower of pixie dust. The bits of glitter floated gently down to collect on the broken gears and wheels. The parts trembled, vibrating with a high-pitched, metallic sound. They took on a life of their own rolling back into each other as if reversing in time. Wheels reconnected to cogs, shattered glass reformed, and the case released the dent Rafe had put into it. But, the process stopped just short of completion. The face and hands laid helplessly still on the floor.

  "You slob his knob, and I'll finish the job."

  "I really want to hit him. Very hard," Rafe said, maintaining a tight grip on his wrath.

  In response, Miriam tightened her grip on him. "I got this, baby." The next comment she directed at Joe. "Go make yourself a comfortable viewing space." She jerked her head toward the bed.

  No one had to tell Joe twice. He made a beeline for it.

  Once the pixie was out of earshot, Miriam tugged Rafe in the direction of the doll pile near the golf bag. "He’s obsessed with sexy blonds,” she whispered. “Blonds with proportions that make zero sense." Reluctantly, she slid her hands off his stomach so she could kneel next to the pile. She pushed aside Cabbage Patch Kids and Holly Hobbys. There, at the bottom, was the perfect Barbie doll.

  Rafe crouched. "I'm not sure I follow."

  "What if we gave him his own girlfriend?"

  "He's a pervert, not a moron. It's a doll."

  “Could you bring her to life?"

  His brow furrowed as he gave her a hard look. "No. But, even if I could, that is not something I would do. Let us set aside the moral and ethical implications of animating a doll so a fairy can grope her. Using my powers invites the legions to discover my location. I will not put your family at risk."

  “We don’t have a choice,” she retorted as she liberated the Barbie from the bottom of the pile. "My family is already at risk."

  "Because witch reasons," he said eyeing the broken clock.

  "Yes. I need that clock in working order again."

  "Why?"

  "I really don't want--"

  "Tell me."

  Miriam sighed. "Because as long as it keeps ticking, it keeps a beast asleep."

  Rafe scrubbed his hands through his dark hair. "Then why is it in the attic where I can smash it with a golf club?"

  "We're witches. Not psychics."

  He muttered under his breath. "So my choices are live sex
show or phone call to Hell."

  She shrugged. "Yeah? Kind of? Like seriously, if you're down to fuck in front of this little asshole, I am there with you. We will do this. But then what? He's not going to leave on his own accord. What if he follows us back to Texas? No, we need to give him his own happy ending. His own girlfriend."

  "By calling on the denizens of Hell."

  "Yes." She glanced over her shoulder, lowering her voice. "And as soon as his tiny face is in her tiny tits, we send him back to fairy land."

  The wariness never left Rafe's features as he turned to where Joe had positioned himself on the wireframe bed. The pixie already had his hand stuffed into the front flap of his red jammies. "What's taking so long? I've prepared my dong!" His high-pitched squeak cut through the attic.

  Rafe turned back to Miriam grimacing. "A warding circle."

  "Absolutely. I'm sure there's a mirror around here to trap him."

  "Find one," Rafe said as he took the doll and stripped off the pink dress it was wearing.

  Miriam wasted no time searching through the rest of the clutter, eventually coming across a broken jewelry box with a mirrored lid and some children's sidewalk chalk. She brought the mirror back to Rafe who was pricking his finger with a needle from an old sewing kit. She set it down in front of him, and he laid the Barbie on it.

  He closed his eyes, whispered in a foreign, guttural tongue, and placed a smear of blood upon the doll’s chest. The temperature of the room rose sharply. The smell of rotten eggs stung their noses. Just as Miriam’s eyes began to water, the doll sprang to life. Plastic limbs flexed and stretched. The doll moved with disturbing grace with a perfect smile and bright blue eyes remaining forever fixed.

  "Holy shit, what did you do?" Miriam steadied herself.

  "Just Hell things," he said with a devilish smirk.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "Touché." Looking past him, she called out. "Hey Joe. New deal. What would you say about having a girlfriend of your own?"

  He leaned back from his perch, trying to see. "What do you mean?"

  "We made you a Christmas present."

  "A present?" He gasped excitedly. "For me?"

  "Yeah. Come take a look."

  Joe pulled his hand out of his pants and jumped down off the footboard. He trotted toward them, avoiding the scattered debris along the way. As he came into the line of sight of the Barbie, he stopped, stunned. She twirled seductively, and his whole pixie body exploded with joy. "It's a Christmas miracle!"