Chapter 1

Tinsel sat on his work bench and sighed, the yo-yo no nearer to completion than it had been an hour earlier, the shop foreman riding his ass like a thong that was two sizes too small—and, yes, elves do indeed wear thongs, which is in fact Victoria’s best-kept secret.

“Get a move-on, Tinsel. Christmas is just around the corner,” he was told, yet again, for the third time that morning.

But Tinsel’s heart simply wasn’t in it. Actually, it hadn’t been in it for a very long time indeed. “Boring yo-yo. Same thing every year. Toys for all the good little boys and girls, and all I get in return is a couple of blisters and a stocking stuffed with fruit. Not even a kiss under the mistletoe.” He stared up, longingly, the mistletoe hanging in the same spot as last year, and the year before that, to as far back as he could recall. Little good it did him to stare at it, though; no one ever kissed him under it, after all. “Ugh,” he groaned as he went back to work on the dreaded yo-yo.

Just then, the workshop door flung open, a North Pole breeze whooshing in as the door met the wall in a rather loud bang that set Tinsel’s teeth on edge. The pom-pom on the tip of his hat rose up in the air as the wind caught it. Soon enough, it wasn’t the only thing rising.

In walked Santa, a male elf by his side, the likes of which Tinsel had never seen before. This little elf had blond hair, blue eyes that twinkled like the stars up in the sky, a dimpled chin, and the tiniest goatee dangling down just below full, pink lips. Now here was an elf that sent a boingin Tinsel’s work shorts, his heart suddenly lub-dubbing in double-time as the stranger with Santa drew near.

“Everyone,” Santa boomed, belly bouncing like a bowlful of Christmas Jell-O, “meet Yule, Mrs. Claus’s favorite nephew. He’s going to help us out this season.” Santa patted the little, blond elf on the back, a warm smile spreading across his rosy-cheeked face as he did so. “Make him feel welcome.”

Tinsel stared in rapt wonder. He’d heard of Yule before. A bad egg, to be sure. Kicked out of all the best elf schools, always in trouble, always just as quickly out of trouble thanks to his family connections. Obviously, there was nowhere else to go but to Santa’s shop. “Maybe this day is finally looking up,” Tinsel said, just under his breath, locking eyes with the dazzling elf, all that blue drawing him in like a pool on a hot summer’s day—not that Tinsel felt many of those, mind you, but still. In any case, Tinsel was shot a wink by the handsome elf, then a nod, that boinggrowing to a full-on kapow in his shorts, which threatened to burst at the seams at any moment.

Well, at least the yo-yo got finished, that and a box-full more, thanks to the adrenaline now coursing through him, owing to Santa placing Yule right by his side. A trickle of sweat meandered down Tinsel’s furrowed brow as elfin legs suddenly pressed up tight to one another, as elbows knocked, flesh meeting glorious flesh, all the way through to their break time a couple of hours later.

“Got a smoke?” Yule asked, the two of them alone around back, heat-lamp beating down, snow otherwise high above them on all sides. They were out of sight, for the time being. Then again, it felt to Tinsel like they were the only two elves left in the entire world.

Tinsel coughed when he finally realized what he’d been asked, a flush of red spreading from ear to pointed ear. “Elves don’t smoke,” he managed to squeak out.

“Wanna bet?” came the reply, followed by a leer and a flash of pearly whites.

“Elves don’t gamble, either,” Tinsel added, eyes plastered to that wondrous smile. Suddenly, Tinsel knew what it felt like to be a moth encountering a flame. And, oh, how he longed to get burned.

Yule laughed, the sound like reindeer hooves clomping on gravel, his arms now crossed over his tight, little chest. “You’ve been hanging around the wrong elves, then.” He paused, their faces suddenly an inch apart. “What else can’t we elves do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Tinsel scratched his head and squinted his eyes. “Let’s see now: no cussing, no smoking, no gambling, no drinking anything harder than eggnog, and no, um, sex.” The last word came out in a hushed whisper, the red on his cheeks bursting as crimson as Santa’s finest suit.

“What’s the point then?” came the chuckled reply. “Why even get out of bed in the morning?”

That was an easy one, thought Tinsel. “To make the toys, of course. For all the good little boys and girls.”

Yule shook his head, his hand thrusting out, then down, before cupping Tinsel’s burgeoning crotch. “Screw the toys. The badlittle boys and girls have all the fun, anyway.”

Tinsel jumped in place, but didn’t move the hand away. “But I…I like making toys.” Which was true, generally speaking. “That’s what elves do.”

“Oh, we do a lot more, Tinsel. A whole lot more. And, judging by this impressive stiffie I’m gripping, I’d say you weren’t like most of the other elves to begin with.” The cupping turned to groping. “Am I getting warmer?”

In fact, he was red hot. “Um, yeah, probably, I suppose. You neither, huh? I mean, that blond hair for instance. Never seen blond on an elf before. There’s red, like mine, brown sometimes, but never this.” He held his hand up and ran his fingers through the thick, blond mane. It was, to the touch, soft as down, the color of wheat and honey. It was all Tinsel could do to not take a lick. Of the hair, that is. Mostly.