"No," Rodney said. "No no no no and no. Not happening."

"Rodney," John wheedled, and Rodney folded his arms across his chest and glared.

"It is important for the children who have roots in the Milky Way galaxy to retain their customs," Teyla pointed out, "and the Athosian children would doubtless enjoy it as well."

"Make Ronon do it, then."

"Not a chance." Ronon pulled out a chair and sat down with his lunch tray. "I'm too recognizable."

This was, Rodney had to admit to himself, probably true. "I'm still not doing it."

"You do owe Zelenka," John said slyly. "After last week's poker game. I could suggest that he take this as payback."

"You wouldn't dare."

John raised an eyebrow.

Then Rodney hit on an idea. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it -- if you'll be the elf." He sat back, moderately gleeful, because there was no way John was going to agree to that.

"Sure," John said. "Elf me."

Rodney gaped. "I hate you."

John stood up, leaned in, and whispered in Rodney's ear, "I'll make it worth your while."

"You'd better!" Rodney yelled as John walked away.

There weren't a lot of children in Atlantis, so it shouldn't have been so bad. Just the kids from the mainland: Rodney could live with that.

Until Zelenka got the genius idea of inviting the whole population of M7G-677. At least, it seemed that way as they were all queuing up.

John's elf outfit was...alarming. There were tights which made Rodney want to run his hands up John's thighs, and some kind of jerkin mde out of leather, and a little pointy hat that John wore cocked to one side like an Air Force beret.

"You look like you belong on a Keebler box," Rodney bitched. He didn't, actually, but Rodney felt ridiculous and he had to take it out on somebody.

There shouldn't have been a Santa costume in the city. That one had somehow made it into the storeroom was an absurdity. It was more-or-less Rodney's size, made out of heavy red wool with stiff white trim, and it had taken him far too long to get a pillow adjusted in such a way that his "belly" didn't look squarish.

"How's that beard feeling?" John lounged lazily, leaning on a tabletop near where Rodney had been set up on an elaborate carved wooden chair.

The beard was stuck on with spirit gum. "It itches. And I hate all of you."

"Buck up," John said, as the munchkins started to file into the room.

"I'm not saying 'ho ho ho," Rodney said, to no one in particular.

"Are you the Yule Father?" the little blond kid asked. One of the Athosians, he was pretty sure. Teyla, standing in the doorway, gave him a look.

"I guess I must be," Rodney said.

"Here, have a seat," John said, lifting the kid onto Rodney's lap. Rodney shot John a glare over the kid's head.

"So. What do you want as a midwinter gift this year?"

"New arrows for my bow," the kid said, excitedly.

"We'll see what we can do about that," Rodney said, and the kid climbed down and ran to a woman who beamed at Rodney beatifically. Rodney resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Next," John said, and the next kid bounded over with excessive glee.

"You okay in there?" John called through the bathroom door.

Rodney stood at the sink in red trousers and white undershirt, soaking a cloth with rubbing alcohol. "Fuck off," he called back.

The door whooshed open; John came in and took the cloth out of Rodney's hands.

"Go away," Rodney said. John ignored him, pushing him backwards until he sat down on the toilet seat. John tipped his head back and Rodney closed his eyes as the washcloth approached his face. The cloth was rough but John's touch was gentle.

"Teyla said she can't wait for next year, when Torren will be old enough to enjoy it."

Rodney opened his eyes, at that. "She's going to have to find some other sucker," he said darkly.

"You're a good sport," John said.

Rodney snorted. "If you're trying to butter me up, at least be plausible."

That got a grin. "You are," John insisted. "I kind of like watching you do it."

"Jesus fuck," Rodney said, "please don't tell me you have some kind of Santa kink."

John laughed so hard he had to put the alcohol down. "No," he gasped, "I just--"

"Like seeing me humiliate myself?" Rodney asked, peevishly.

"I like that we're making our own traditions," John said, finally, still chuckling a little.

"It's still not fair," Rodney said. He grabbed the cloth out of John's hands and scrubbed hard at the spirit gum, wincing a little.

"What's not?"

"I look ridiculous," Rodney said. "You look--" He waved a hand. "Disturbingly attractive."

"Didn't know you had a thing for elves." John's voice was amused.

"I don't. But tights are kind of a good look on you." Rodney's face was hot. Hopefuly John would blame it on the vigorous scrubbing.

"Here," John said, wetting another cloth with water and handing it to Rodney, who wiped his face one last time wordlessly. And then John dragged him out into the room. "Sit," John said, and Rodney sat on the edge of the bed.

John knelt in front of him, pushing his thighs apart. Despite himself, Rodney felt a frisson of interest. It was hard not to feel interested when John Sheppard was on his knees, licking his lips like that.

"I said I'd make it worth your while," John reminded him. His voice was low and it made Rodney shiver.

Rodney leaned back, bracing himself on his hands, and watched as John unfastened his garish red trousers and reached inside.

John's mouth was hot and he was doing something with his tongue that made Rodney want to whimper. One hand was wrapped around the base of Rodney's dick and the other rubbed tantalizingly behind his balls, applying a maddening pressure that made Rodney want to squirm toward him and squirm away at the same time.

"Oh, God, fuck," Rodney managed, a little breathless.

John pulled back with an audible pop, exposing Rodney's dick to the room's cool air. "Is that a request?"

"It's commentary," Rodney said, twitching up toward John's wet mouth.

John grinned. "Oh," he said, and sucked just the head of Rodney's dick into his mouth before releasing it again. "Because if you wanted..." He gave a little shrug that apparently meant 'I could fuck you.' Or maybe 'you could fuck me,' Rodney wasn't sure.

"Too much work," Rodney said. A part of him regretted it as soon as he said the words; what kind of idiot turned that down? But John swallowed him down again and the regret vanished.

This time it was a blowjob with intent. His trousers were shoved halfway down his thighs, the wool scratchy against his skin, and they had to be chafing John's wrist where John was reaching in and back to tease right near his hole, but Rodney couldn't bring himself to care about that. He was so close his whole body was tight with want.

When John slid a finger inside Rodney moaned, caught between wanting to thrust up and wanting to push back. John's finger crooked and he did something with his tongue and Rodney lost it, coming hard.

He flopped back onto the bed and John slowly pulled off of him.

"Okay," Rodney said, grinning stupidly at the ceiling.

"Hm?" John stood up, his knees creaking. His erection was visible through his leggings; it made Rodney's mouth water.

"That did redeem my day a little."

John grinned, pulling his tunic off to reveal the soft t-shirt underneath. He had to twist a little to get it up and over his shoulders; Rodney lay back and enjoyed the show.

"You can fuck me," Rodney offered. What the hell; he was feeling boneless, John would have to do all the work.

"I don't think I'd last that long," John admitted, climbing over him. His mouth tasted like Rodney and he gasped when Rodney grabbed his hips and pulled his erection snug against Rodney's thigh.

"You're a sick man," Rodney said, and sucked at John's exposed neck. John shivered, rubbing up against him in a way that made Rodney wish he could get hard again.

"It's not the outfit," John protested. "I just like sucking you off."

"Well, I guess I can oblige you in that," Rodney said magnanimously, sliding one hand down the back of John's tights.

John squirmed closer, his body stuttering against Rodney's. He was right there, so Rodney kissed him again. His thrusts picked up speed, and when Rodney bit his lip he gasped, convulsing.

He was a warm weight on top of Rodney, his breath moist on Rodney's neck.

"Did you just come in that costume?" Rodney asked.

"Whose fault is that?"

"I wouldn't look forward to explaining that to the laundry," Rodney said loftily.

"Go to hell," John said, without rancor.

"Merry fucking Christmas," Rodney said, and pulled John close.

The End