Christmas Stalkings (White Hot Christmas 11)

Henry peered out from behind a cup on Abby's bedroom dresser, one that held mismatched earrings and shiny rocks and all the girly do-dads she'd collected over the years.

A well-worn letter in a torn, hand-written envelope stuck out from underneath a gaily painted tray, shoved there as if hidden in a moment of frustration. Curious, Henry eased it out, pausing when the woman's light snore echoed from the bed. He read the short note in the light from the window.

Abby, it's over. I'll be spending Christmas with my new girlfriend.
Sorry for the short notice.
Reid.

It was dated December 24th, two years ago.

"Damn, that was harsh. Merry fucking Christmas." Henry dropped the letter and looked around, enjoying his new tiny size and comparing his working parts, in true manly fashion, to objects around him. Unfortunately, having a large penis in comparison to a push pin wasn't very good for his ego, so he jumped down and zapped himself back to his normal size.

Looking for anything to indicate there was a man in her life; he checked the bathroom and the closet. After reading the letter, he suspected there probably wasn't, but better to be sure.

A dusty box of condoms and an abandoned container of birth control pills were the only evidence of a sex life he came up with, other than a well-read magazine full of muscled men in tiny thongs that didn't even cover their asses.

Curious. Human men were clearly built different than Elves. From what he could see, those thongs wouldn't hold anything big enough to keep a gnat happy, but to each their own. She seemed to like what she saw in the magazine, so that was good enough for him.

"She's even lonelier than I am. She can definitely use some of my purple Christmas magic. Making her happy should score well for me getting back to the North Pole."

He headed for the dining nook and did a big purple whammy on the socks. Surely the magic would work right this time. After all, he wasn't including the Pulsating Purple People Pleaser, or the Anatomically Correct but Politically Incorrect Mistress Matilda statue in this woman's Christmas stockings. Those both needed more work before they were ready to try out on the public again.

This, now... this was just a little innocent magic to help a lonely girl for Christmas. His special stocking stuffers would fulfill her every desire and she'd be happy again.

With his pinkie in his ear, a grab of his ass and an awkward double twirl to the right, he vanished from sight before the pedestrian whistling for a cab outside woke her.

* * *

Abby stumbled into the kitchen for a drink without bothering to turn the lights on. The ambient glow from the streetlight was usually enough for her to find her way. Yet tonight, the glow was absent.

Maybe it's cloudy outside.

She felt her way along the wall and crossed the dining room toward the kitchen, only to run into a solid wall where there shouldn't be one. Abby stuck out her hands, and felt... skin. Warm, solid, muscled, skin, dusted with hair.

Male skin.

She screamed, prompting another warm, solid, muscled male body to slide behind her, his hand gently covering her mouth. She was bracketed by them in an almost naked Abby sandwich.

No way, Jose! I've seen this kind of movie too many times. I'm not gonna end up on the wrong side of a slasher film with screeching music after letting some strangers feel me up.

The man in front of her framed her face with his hands as if he wanted to kiss her, so she placed her palms on either side of his waist as he drew near, pulling him just a little bit closer.

Thud!

The guy in front of her went down with a whimper, her sharp knee right on target. She flung her head back toward the man behind her, hoping he was close enough and short enough for her skull to hit him in the face.

She was correct on both guesses, and the second man went down. Abby ran for her cell phone and the front door, dialing 9-1-1 as she fumbled with the locks.

The phone went dead. Dropping the useless thing, she undid four of the locks by feel before she heard the men stirring. She shot a glance behind her and doubled her efforts, only to find all the locks re-secured when she turned the light on. "Holy crap! What the hell is going on?" I know I undid those locks. I've done it a thousand times.

"We're your Christmas presents, Abby." A man's pained voice sounded from the bodies she'd left near the kitchen.

Abby turned toward them after glancing again at the dead cell phone. The locks, she couldn't explain.

The men rose shakily, helping each other up. Two nearly identical "steaming hot, muscled hunks of love," her girlfriends at work would call them. She could easily imagine her friends pushing each other out of the way to shove crisp dollar bills down the men's tight, brightly colored little thongs. Thongs in Chicago in December? Oh no. "Uhm... you said you were my Christmas presents?"

They nodded in tandem.

"Did Mandy and Kim send you? I told them not to get me anything for Christmas, damn it!"

The men shrugged, and the one with the bloodied nose pulled a towel away from his face. "We don't know who sent us, Abby, just that we're here to grant your every desire."