Santa, Actually Read online

  Quinn knew Gerry was chanting his stress management mantra to himself. He often did that when he and Quinn were in bed together. Quinn didn’t mind at all—it was a useful flag to let him know when he was using just enough kink. Or too much.

  “Here we see Santa’s helpers,” came the seductive voiceover (actually Pam the sandwich girl), “looking after his reindeer.”

  Quinn sneered at Tomasz. “Your cue, Adam Antler.”

  “Fuck off about the antlers.” Tomasz glared back. He was dressed in brief brown leather shorts, with bondage straps of the same hide across his back and torso, and thigh-high black boots. That wasn’t so bad, of course, he’d worn much worse in his career, but he’d complained bitterly to Gerry about the antler headdress.

  “It’s for the sake of your art,” Quinn snapped. “Bend over and let me give the reindeer a bone, honey.” Quinn knew he was enjoying this, way too much, but Tomasz was a joy to taunt. Quinn pulled his dick free of the thong, rolled on a condom with a few proficient strokes, then rubbed lube into his palm for Tomasz’s arse. He slid his fingers up under the leg of Tomasz’s shorts, to tease out the best camera angles for their foreplay. Tomasz Wrobel was one of the finer specimens in the business nowadays, and if he could keep his mind off that bimbo he brought with him, Quinn reckoned they could really put on a show for the viewers. He tapped his crop on Tomasz’s left buttock, testing the reaction of the firm flesh.

  “Sing a carol!” Gerry said in his best ‘Director’ voice. “Just a few lines. We’ll dub over the rest.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes at Tomasz, and his co-star grinned back, for once in agreement with him.

  “What is it we should sing?” he murmured to Quinn. “I Saw Three Dicks?”

  “You wish.” Quinn sniggered. He hummed a few bars of something that sounded like a 70s glam rock hit, then flipped his cock at Tomasz’s ass, deliberating on his best move. He was hugely aroused. No one ever dared ask him what went through his mind to get him so ready, so swiftly. But he’d never disappointed the cameras, never failed to perform at his best. If he were given the chance, that was…

  “Hey!” he called urgently. “Where are you going?”

  The camera had swung smoothly away from the erotic tableau of Rudolph and his greedy groom, and seemed to be more interested in Santa’s sleigh, albeit it was really only a pile of orange crates and some hastily pinned painted cardboard. There was an embarrassingly large quantity of sleigh bells tacked up along the plywood blades.

  “Here we see some of Santa’s special helpers, mucking out the stables,” droned the soundtrack.

  “Making out, I think that is,” Tomasz hissed, turning to watch.

  Tomasz’s new man was playing some kind of coachman. He was sitting on the makeshift bench at the front of the sleigh, holding the reins that were due to be attached to Tomasz’s harness. There was a sudden disturbance in the sleigh behind him, and he turned to stare at what appeared to be a pair of romping elves.

  While the cameras had been on the other actors, Jack and Grady had tumbled down into the makeshift sleigh and were hidden behind the painted façade. They’d taken advantage of the situation as they always did: their clothes were already open in various places, ready for action. Jack hitched his cute little green tunic up around his waist, and Grady dropped to his green-tighted knees. Jack waved a hand at the blond driver, with nothing more than a gasp, gesturing him to move over. He then stood up, supporting his back against the bench, and grasped at the thick curly hair of his lover. Grady bobbed between Jack’s outstretched knees, panting with some kind of desperation. The loud sucking noises could be clearly heard over the faux-Phil Spector backing soundtrack.

  The blond let the reins fall from his hands, his mouth still open in surprise. He stared at the enthusiastic fornicating behind him with fascination. The others watched with something more like resignation—it wasn’t like they didn’t get this kind of show on a regular basis.

  “Never done it on a sleigh,” Jack grunted. No one knew if that were an apology or a boast. As Grady’s blowjob got more aggressive, the cardboard panel of the sleigh bowed outwards with the pressure, and the row of sleigh bells rattled happily all along the sides. Grady’s eyes were shining with delight at the sound.

  Quinn sighed and stroked himself soothingly. Grady started to moan around Jack’s cock, and they all knew what that meant: Jack’s climax was imminent. No one bothered saying anything or attempting to get in on the scene. Better to let the couple run their course, then pick up where the filming left off. Coming between Jack and Grady just wasn’t an option. Beside Quinn, Tomasz took the time to adjust the edge of his reindeer antlers which were digging into his ear. Santa’s coachman just continued to stare at the activity in the sleigh. Maybe his breathing grew just a little more shallow; maybe his own green shorts grew just a little tighter around the lap.

  Jack groaned loudly, shuddering into Grady’s mouth, and one of his elven ears slipped a little on his left side. Grady coughed and laughed, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and then the two of them sagged down behind the painted sleigh panels again.

  And still the cameras rolled.

  “Boss?” Quinn asked Gerry. “You want us to—?”

  “Cut,” Gerry said to the cameraman. “That’s good.”

  Quinn frowned. “But the script…”

  Gerry ignored him. He made a small notation against the margin of his copy. “That’s all I need. Updated instructions from the client. This scene’s a wrap.”

  All Quinn could do was stare as Gerry instructed the crew to move on to the next scene.

  * * * *

  “Scene Two!” Gerry called.

  “Here we see the elves,” droned the soundtrack voice, “on the rooftops in the soft, white snow, preparing for Santa’s journey down the chimneys of the city.”

  Quinn bent with all the grace he could muster over the papier maché chimney, completely naked now except for his leather boots. A painted backdrop of tower blocks and church steeples wobbled behind him, giving the illusion that he was standing on the roof. Or trying to give the illusion: the artwork had been rather hurried. His buttocks had been oiled by an over-eager assistant from wardrobe, and he cast his very best, lascivious look back over his shoulder. In all honesty, no one was looking at the backdrop, and he knew it. He licked his lips as if hungry, and dropped a hand to his groin. He stroked himself back to fullness, nudging his cock back under his balls and up between his legs for the best shot.

  Had there been a shot.

  “Hey!” he called. But the cameras had moved yet again and were no longer concentrating on him. He looked angrily over to Tomasz, but his co-star was also no longer in view. Tomasz and his amour were both in shorts and antlers now, tethered rather fractiously to an artificial tree, and finding amusement only in nuzzling at each other. Tomasz’s eyes were closed and he was playing happily with his boyfriend’s pert nipple. Quinn glared at the blond and the blond gazed back, his eyes slightly glazed, sweat glistening on his chest. Something familiar flickered in his eyes.

  Quinn stood up and brushed imaginary soot off his muscled thighs.

  * * * *

  Across on the studio ‘lawn’, there was a ‘snowball’ fight in progress. At a sign from Gerry, the cameras turned eagerly towards it.

  Grady and Jack had tidied themselves back into their costumes after the scene in the sleigh, but it hadn’t been long before they had been distracted—again. While Quinn was preparing himself on the ‘roof’, Grady had picked up a handful of the glimmering white flakes and shoved it down the back of Jack’s green felt collar. Jack yelped and grabbed out for his revenge.

  Now they were chasing after each other, slipping around on the white floor covering. Grady dodged but not very convincingly, and Jack caught him. They bumped against each other, laughing, and Jack snatched a kiss. Grady returned it with plenty of tongue and noisy, hungry sounds. He pushed Jack against the trunk of a balsa wood pine tree.

  Jack could
hear himself panting, loudly. He reckoned the Ronettes were having difficulty being heard over his whimpers. But he was savouring Grady’s fingers reaching down his elven pants, Grady’s wet breath on his neck. He groaned as Grady grasped his swelling erection.

  “Now!” Grady muttered, half-laughing, half-moaning. “Here! I’ve never done it in snow before.”

  Jack looked around wildly for somewhere they could snatch some quick privacy. It wasn’t likely, was it? Their sense of occasion was never very good at the best of times. The camera crew were focussed on them; Pam, clutching her sandwich tray, was staring at them; Gerry glared at them from behind his clipboard. Privacy just wasn’t an option. But then, missing a chance for Grady to fuck him wasn’t one either. “It’s just fake snow, Grady…a polyester blanket…artificial flakes on top.”

  “All the better,” Grady panted, starting to tug down Jack’s spandex tights. “Winter Wonderland without the wet arse.”

  “I’ll show you wet arse,” Jack growled and dragged Grady bodily around the back of the ‘tree’. He pushed Grady down on his bum on the ground, then dropped to his knees beside him. As Grady gasped for breath, Jack kissed him firmly.

  “I can hear church bells!” Grady sighed.

  “That’s aural and oral ecstasy,” Jack joked, rather daringly for him. “And it’s only a tape.” He peeled back the fabric of Grady’s elf shorts as quickly but as carefully as he could. Then he went down on Grady, drawing in as much of the swollen, eager cock as possible.

  “Suckin’ around the Christmas Tree…” Grady warbled.

  Jack mumbled appreciation, licking reverently at the tip of Grady’s dick.

  “Enough!” Grady pushed Jack back off him, and fisted his own cock for a few harder strokes. “Looking for your hips, not lips on this baby. Fast!”

  With a grin, Jack ripped his spandex down and off one foot, lowered his briefs, then sat astride Grady’s lap. Yanking up his tunic again—who made these things? Didn’t they know they needed to be easily removed at a moment’s notice?—he started to lower himself down onto Grady’s waiting shaft.

  “Oh, Holy Tight!” Grady groaned, though not as tunefully as before.

  Behind them, Jack heard Pam give a small, strangled murmur of shock. He was sure she must have seen more than a few adult movies in her day, but he couldn’t worry about her embarrassment right now. His libido was—sadly, but as always—oblivious to anything but Grady.

  * * * *

  Quinn stepped up behind Gerry, with only the slightest squeak from his oiled buttocks. “Boss…” he began.

  Gerry held a finger to his lips for silence. Then he waved the camera around to catch every movement from Jack and Grady.

  Quinn frowned and moved to the perimeter of the set. Still stark naked, he found another balsa wood pine tree to lean against, and soon Tomasz and his twink joined him. For a while they just watched the scene unfolding and listened to Jack’s moans and Grady’s panting. Quinn reached out a hand and brushed lightly at the young blond’s chest. Tomasz didn’t complain—or at least, not about sharing.

  “So who is to be the main feature of this movie?” he said. “Am I strapped into this outfit of ridicule for no purpose except Yuletide atmosphere?” He started to wriggle out of the aggravating shorts. The blond bent down to help him, and Quinn’s hand brushed at the pert young arse. He didn’t miss the clench of eager buttocks that answered his touch. He looked over at the action happening on the other side of the set, and wrinkled his nose in distaste at the two young men currently steaming up the camera lens.

  “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, I must admit. You know they’re wearing those matching designer briefs? That’s so clichéd. Mind you, I suppose we should be grateful they’re wearing anything at all.”

  The blond had turned back to face Quinn, ice-blue eyes fixed on his mouth. And moving southwards. “Quinn Sentinel. I’ve seen all your films,” he breathed, excitedly. “You were a superb Ernst Blow-well in Oh! Oh!! Seven!!!. I watched it…” He blushed. “Well, many times. When Tomasz said you’d be here as well, I was thrilled. Never thought I’d get to see you close up, like this.” He blushed even more. “It’s an honour, you know.”

  “I know,” Quinn agreed. “So…while those elves are occupying this particular grotto with their unique brand of Wan-king Wenceslas, we’d better think of some other way to keep ourselves warm, eh?”

  Tomasz turned to grin at him. “At last you are talking some sense, Sentinel. The Twelve Plays of Christmas, eh?”

  Quinn leered back, his hand absently stroking at his groin. “The five golden rings are particularly tempting.” He sighed theatrically, making sure his breath caressed the blond’s neck, lifting the edges of his fine hair. The twink looked from one naked man to another, and his eyes glittered with what Quinn recognised—after many years of relevant experience—as hopeful anticipation.

  “Nuttin’ for Christmas?” Quinn’s fanboy said softly. He slid his right palm under Quinn’s shaved balls, and his left palm under Tomasz’s.

  The two actors sucked in a happy breath. The three of them moved together more closely, and possessive hands started to wander.

  The only person left watching Jack and Grady, and listening to their sobs and groans from the base of the ‘tree’ was Gerry. Quinn wished him the best with that, not least with consoling the props assistant who was probably hiding behind the structure and holding it firm against the hammering from Jack and Grady’s bodies. And yet a quick glance in Gerry’s direction showed the director with a large grin on his face.

  Quinn was both amused and bemused. He’d have to work out what was happening on set today, and why the script had been abandoned like last night’s fish and chips wrapper.

  The twink moaned softly, his fingers kneading Quinn’s balls.

  But later, Quinn thought.

  * * * *

  “Scene Three!” Gerry had that edge to his voice that came with the end of a too-long day. At the base of one of the much-battered trees, Jack and Grady were tied against the trunk with yards of red satin ribbon. And nothing else. A couple of strategically placed bows hid their privates, but from the look in their eyes, that wasn’t going to last for long.

  “Here we see his elves, delivering presents…” came the saccharin-sweet voice in the background.

  “Gonna throttle that girl,” snapped Quinn. “With her own damned tinsel.”

  Jack was startled—the voice had come from way above his head. Looking up, he saw Quinn sitting on a makeshift platform at the top of the tree. It had been hastily decorated as a Christmas tree, with baubles and tinsel and some rather tired-looking lights. The props department had attached broom handles up the side of the trunk to resemble branches, then covered them with green paper foliage. Quinn’s platform was rather precariously balanced on two of these poles, about ten feet above the ground, and he’d been perched there as the angel at the top of the tree. Now he shifted a set of golden wings attached to the back of his bondage harness and winced. He stretched a long, muscled leg out in front of him, wriggling his toes probably to prevent cramps.

  Someone sighed deeply. Jack peered around the tree trunk and saw the blond, young man on the other side. He was sitting among some huge boxes that had been wrapped as presents. He was dressed in a fur loincloth and something approximating a Rudolph the Reindeer hood, complete with detachable false red nose. He didn’t seem bothered by the daft costume. All he did was gaze greedily up at Quinn’s limb, just out of his reach.

  “Cameras,” Gerry announced, and the equipment began to slide across the studio floor. “Roll!”

  One of the presents on the floor burst open and a nearly-nude Tomasz sprang up. “And So Dickin’ Christmas!” he carolled. “And a Bangin’ New Year!” His erection bounced happily in a too-small thong, decorated with a large sprig of velvet holly.

  The blond twisted his head around sharply to look at Tomasz, and his eyes grew wider. At the top of the tree, Quinn groaned. “What’s the p
oint?” he muttered, loud enough that Jack could hear it. “I’m going to get myself a better agent after this debacle.”

  Beside Jack, Grady wriggled with discomfort. At least, Jack had assumed his lover was suffering the same feelings, but from the naked hunger in Grady’s eyes when he looked at the be-ribboned Jack, he wasn’t so sure. Grady shifted closer to Jack, his bare bum making a scritching sound on the plastic flooring. He nudged against the tree trunk and set off the tinkling and glittering of various ornaments.

  Jack sighed. “You’ve got some kind of fetish for bells, haven’t you?”

  “Some kinda fetish for you,” Grady hissed. “Look, let’s escape! We could just slip out of these things, no one would notice, they’re all distracted by Tomasz’s chestnuts roasting by an open fire.”

  Jack had already started tugging the end of the ribbon on his left arm between his teeth. Needless to say, no one had used any decent knots, though that was to his advantage now. A plastic icicle fell from the tree behind him, and a gold orb swung dangerously close to a winking tree light, as his urgent movements made the platform rattle up above. He didn’t think the cameras had left Tomasz yet, who was in the middle of a strange, gyrating dance routine that Jack didn’t think had any roots in authentic Eastern European culture, and looked more like Tomasz had got the seam of his thong twisted. Nor did Jack think he or Grady had any lines in this scene. Grady was meant to have read the script again last night, but had preferred to try out a penis enhancer sample, resulting in neither of them spending any time or attention on the next day’s filming. Anyway, now was the time to make their move.

  “I’m keen to be a Little Rimmer Boy,” Grady whispered in his ear.

  Jack flushed, banishing any thoughts he’d had of sneaking back to the trailer and finishing his gay romance book. “Well, I’ve never done it up a tree,” he mused. He twisted his legs and kicked himself out of a particularly awkward knot. Free at last!

  Grady licked his lips in anticipation.