Under the Mistletoe
Mister Coffee
”What’s that?”
”It’s mistletoe.”
”Huh, I’ve never seen actual mistletoe before.”
”You know what you’re supposed to do under mistletoe, right?”
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It’s the middle of the night, you don’t know when. It’s dark, and you have to piss.
Normally not an issue; normally you get up and take care of business and go back to sleep and that’s that. Sometimes you don’t even remember getting up in the middle of the night, because it’s a task that takes very little mental effort. You don’t even have to turn the lights on to do it.
Normally not an issue, but right now you’ve got a girl draped across your chest, and not only do you not want to disturb her, but you want to have the moment last for as long as it can.
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You could have said that you knew; instead, you just nod and tilt your head down until your lips meet.
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You aren’t sure how soundly girls sleep as you gently extricate yourself from her embrace and the bed.
You have no idea where your clothes are, and does it really matter?
It takes you a moment to orient yourself; dorm rooms have a shared bathroom and yours is to the left while hers is to the right. Otherwise, it’s the same setup you’re familiar with, and you don’t even need to turn on the bathroom light to take care of business. The arc sodium lights in the parking light serve as a nightlight.
Some nights, you barely wake up as you shuffle to the toilet and back, but this time is different. This time you’re not going to be returning to your bed, you’re going to be returning to hers.
You take a minute to look around the bathroom. The sink and shower are both cluttered with shampoos, body washes, loofahs, makeup.
Out of respect, you put the seat back down and flush the toilet. In the middle of the night, it sounds like a rocket taking off. If your departure from the bed hadn’t woken her, the toilet surely would have.
You open the door, and she’s sitting up in bed, the comforter pulled up around her to hide her nakedness. When she sees you, she slides off the bed, still keeping the blanket around her.
Sonata meets you halfway and leans in for a kiss. You oblige her, wrapping her into a tight hug.
She presses against you as your tongues wrestle for dominance, and then she wraps the blanket around you and flounces off to the bathroom. You’re almost too dumbfounded to watch.
Almost.
When the door closes, you make your way back to bed, pull the crumpled sheet back up, and wait.
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It only takes you a moment to notice Sonata’s not wearing a bra. Her face is flushed as she pulls away from the kiss, and she brushes the mistletoe to your shoulder, kissing where it touches.
”This isn’t exactly under the mistletoe,” you say.
”Under is under,” she replies, touching it to her neck.
You don’t even hesitate; you kiss her neck and follow the mistletoe across her body until she reaches the curve of her breast.
”Really?
Her eyes are bright as she nods. “It’s the rule.”
You’re not one to object to the rule. You kiss down, following the path of the mistletoe all the way to her nipple, already poking through her thin shirt.
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She’s highlighted in the harsh glow of the arc-sodium lights as she comes out of the bathroom. It’s not a flattering light by any means, but that’s not important. It might as well be moonlight for what you perceive.
The memories of last night are still fresh in your mind, and even before she moves across the room, your dick stirs.
You push the covers back and she gets into bed, spooning into you, pressing her ass against your erection. You bury your nose into her head, against the silky smoothness of her hair, and for moment you wonder which bottle of shampoo and which bottle of conditioner is hers. Then your hand is gripping her breast and she shifts her legs.
Her hand is cold and your cock shrinks away from it for a fleeting moment before it remembers it’s feeling a girl’s touch, and you let her guide you, slipping your head between her lips and into her pussy.
Last night the sex was urgent; now it proceeds at a languid pace. You’ve got a handful of breast, and you reluctantly give up your grasp to explore further down, to feel her belly and her pubic mound, to encounter her hand between her legs, stroking her clit as you thrust from behind.
You take her place, briefly fingering her clit and then pressing against your cock as it slips inside her, then you move your hand back up, back to her breast, gripping and squeezing in tempo with your thrusts.
The climax comes too soon, and for a moment you’re locked in a rictus of pleasure and then it’s over. You keep your grip on her boob as you fade into sleep, your cock still inside her.
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You’ve got your teeth locked on her nipple, and she lets out a soft moan. You’d never even considered that you might get lucky with Sonata, but yet here you are.
”Mmh, Santa’s gonna know if you’re naughty or nice.”
You pull away from her breast. ”I'll be naughty.”
She slips the mistletoe into her pants.
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Morning comes, and she’s not a dream, she’s still there.
Her hair tickles your nose but that doesn’t matter. You nuzzle against the back of her neck, memories of last night surfacing in your mind. Your morning wood has a purpose, and you press up against her again.
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Memories of Christmas past rise up in your mind. The tree, the presents neatly wrapped underneath, the eagerness of tearing at the wrapping paper to see what's contained within. All of those take a back seat to the now.
You're on your back and she's riding you like a bucking bronco, her svelte form a silhouette against the morning light streaming through the window. Your hands are on her hips and she's bracing on your shoulders as she slams herself onto your cock.
