Work Text:
“Oh my god, get off of me!” Mu Qing hissed.
Yet despite his words, Feng Xin felt his husband’s hips rolling up to meet his own, delicious licks of heat flooding everything downstairs. As always, his ferocious kitten hissed and fought, but his damn body gave him away. Every time. Whether it was the wanton way his hips gyrated upward in search of friction, or the tantalizing shivers that made Feng Xin want to do whatever he had done again. He really didn’t get why Mu Qing had to be like this, but even after years together, kids, marriage — he was as fucking contrary as he’d always been.
Luckily, Feng Xin wouldn’t have it any other way.
“No, babe, Santa wants to fucking ravage you,” Feng Xin teased.
He grasped Mu Qing’s hands and pinned them above his head as he rolled down into his husband’s groin. Long, toned legs wrapped around him, helping to lift his hips up off of the ground in search of jolts of pleasure. If they weren’t on the rug in their fucking living room, Feng Xin might lose the battle with sinking his teeth into the soft, silky flesh of one of those jade thighs. He settled for capturing Mu Qing’s lips, tongue demanding entrance.
As expected, he was met with resistance, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip moments before their tongues met. His little minx let out a mewl. Feng Xin fucking loved that sound.
“You,” Mu Qing gasped as Feng Xin’s cock twitched beneath the jolly red costume that he’d donned, “are an idiot.”
“You love idiots.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing moaned into his mouth
The intention had been to simply show Mu Qing what he bought for the following day. He figured the kids might get a fucking kick out of seeing and talking to Santa. He would give them each one of the gifts they had signed as being from the jolly fat man. But Mu Qing’s appraisal — and the way that his top lip twitched upward — had been too much to resist.
He hated it.
So of course Feng Xin couldn’t help but tease him. And teasing Mu Qing always ended in one of two ways. Either Feng Xin had to fucking apologize and then make it up to his husband. Or they fucked.
He very much looked forward to the second option tonight. He had no doubt that was where things were going based on the sounds escaping Mu Qing’s lips. Not to mention the reaction he could feel growing in Mu Qing’s shorts.
(Why the hell his husband thought it was a good idea to wear shorts in the middle of winter when he was freezing half the time, Feng Xin would never manage to fucking understand. But he sure as fuck loved the sight of Mu Qing’s thighs. And ass. Especially hugged by the tighter fitting shorts his husband preferred to lounge or sleep in. And he combined it all with a fucking hoodie stolen from Feng Xin’s closet — the man made no sense.
But goddamn did Feng Xin love him.)
He let go of his husband’s hands in favor of sliding callused fingers down sleeve-covered forearms, biceps, and all the way down Mu Qing’s sides. Feng Xin couldn’t wait to unwrap his early Christmas present. The moment he found the hem of Mu Qing’s hoodie, his fingertips slipped beneath in search of silky, fragrant skin.
Mu Qing gasped. Feng Xin groaned. Something… thunked?
“What was that?” Mu Qing’s eyes, newly shut in ecstasy, flew open. “Get off of me!”
Unmoving despite the order, Feng Xin peered over his shoulder toward the hallway leading to the boys’ bedrooms. He didn’t initially see anything, and he waited with baited breath. If one of the twins or Cuocuo were awake, they would make themselves known. But he heard no little pads of feet, no whining about being unable to sleep, and no little voices calling their names.
“It’s nothing, babe, don’t worry about it,” Feng Xin reassured.
He pushed the hoodie up further as his lips crashed down on Mu Qing’s. His husband responded, but it was tentative. His body felt tense in a way that it hadn’t before. Feng Xin sent prayers to new gods and old that Mu Qing wasn’t about to cut their play time short. For good measure, Feng Xin rolled his hips into his husband’s, attempting to elicit more of those tantalizing sounds, but all he received in response was pain as Mu Qing bit him.
“Ow, babe!”
“Move,” Mu Qing demanded, shoving at him. “I need to check on the kids.”
With those words, the moment was broken and the sensual mood was sucked dry. Feng Xin sighed. Dragging his hands out from beneath the hoodie (purposefully not making it quick), Feng Xin shifted his weight and rolled off of his husband.
“It was probably nothing,” Feng Xin pointed out lazily from his place on the floor as Mu Qing climbed to his feet. “We’d hear if one of the boys were up.”
Mu Qing shot him a glare, and Feng Xin shut his trap immediately, hands coming up in surrender. Whether he were right or not didn’t fucking matter anymore. They had to check now, so a bit more dramatically than necessary, Feng Xin popped up to his feet. He tugged off the red Santa hat, slipped the jacket off, and stepped out of the ridiculous red pants, leaving him in his gold muscle shirt and his gray sweatpants.
Mu Qing watched him, a smirk on his lips, either enjoying the show of his husband stripping in their living room or inwardly laughing at the ridiculous image he made. It was hard to tell. “That’s what I thought.”
“Don’t get cocky.” Feng Xin borrowed a play out of his husband’s book and rolled his eyes. “Lead the way, babe.”
Both parents tiptoed down the hallway. They stopped at their oldest son’s door first, cracking it just enough to peer inside. Cuocuo’s TV was on, volume low, and his slumbering figure illuminated by the electronic glow. He was out like a fucking light, practically sideways on the bed with his mouth hanging open and one arm dangling off of the edge of the bed.
Mu Qing muffled a snort, reaching up to hide his face at the sight as Feng Xin grinned ear to ear. “You have to move him. He’s going to wake up sore if we leave him like that.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Feng Xin whispered.
He pushed the door open a little further and tip-toed in, only to come to an unfortunate stop as something sharp and plastic dug into the sole of his bare foot. He swallowed a groan in the back of his throat, hopping up off of the foot as he reached down to soothe the pain in his arch. Mu Qing hissed in sympathy — no. No he fucking didn’t. That was a goddamn laugh.
Jerking his head up, Feng Xin watched as his husband disappeared from the doorway. The sound of muffled wheezing laughter reached his ears.
Asshole.
Rubbing his foot, Feng Xin’s eyes squinted in the dark in search of the offending toy. He found the damn action figure after a moment, sweeping it up off the the floor and grimacing as he realized he had broken the arm off of the fucking thing. Whoops?
Pocketing the action figure, Feng Xin made quick work of righting Cuocuo and then tiptoed back out. This time, he was far more mindful of any toys littering his son’s floor. He made a mental note to back Mu Qing up the next time his husband got onto their son about his messy room. Once he was safe in the hallway, he tugged the door shut until it remained only slightly cracked.
“You shithead,” he rounded on Mu Qing, who was grinning ear to ear.
“Guess you should have worn your glasses, yeye.”
Growling, Feng Xin reached out and looped an arm around Mu Qing’s waist, tugging him closer before pinning him against the wall. “How’s that for grandpa?”
Mu Qing looked oddly amused still. “Is that a toy in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
A beat passed, and they both devolved into snickers. Mu Qing buried his face against Feng Xin’s shoulder to muffle himself while Feng Xin buried his face in his husband’s hair. They both vibrated with quiet giggles. After a few moments of this followed by a much needed breather — Feng Xin enjoying the aroma of coconut in his husband’s hair — they pulled away. Waiting, they both remained completely silent, but the quiet revealed no hints of little feet seeking the noises, nor anything else out of the ordinary. Somehow, they had managed not to alert the entire house to their moment of silliness.
Still, Mu Qing cleared his throat. “All right, next the twins, and then we should—”
“Go to bed?” Feng Xin wiggled his eyebrows at his husband.
He was met with an eye roll. “We should fill the stockings and set out the gifts, dumbass.”
“Then we go to bed?” Feng Xin grinned.
“No, then we eat the cookies.”
Mu Qing quietly strode toward the twins’ room before turning the knob to peer inside.
Feng Xin leaned in, whispering in Mu Qing’s ear. “Then we go to bed.”
“Oh my god, shut up,” he hissed back.
He squinted through the darkness toward the two beds illuminated by identical nightlights, spotting two little lumps. Feng Xin did the same. Both of the boys appeared to be asleep. Their nightlights were in working order. Neither sleeping lump was making any odd sounds. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Maybe it had just been the wind that they had heard before?
“Babe, they’re asleep, c’mon.”
Feng Xin grabbed his husband’s hand, giving a tug. Mu Qing didn’t move immediately, taking a few extra moments to stare very intently at their little bundles. Only once he was fully satisfied they were both breathing and not getting out of bed — presumably because they were fucking asleep, duh — did he pull the door mostly shut.
“So, our to-do list—”
Mu Qing shut him up with a finger to his lips and an exasperated glare. “Don’t even start with me. We’ll go to bed after we get everything set up. Now c’mon, you big oaf.”
Mu Qing tried to sound stern, but Feng Xin saw the upturn at the corners of his mouth. He bit back a grin of his own and slipped an arm around his husband’s waist as they made their way back to the living room. They needed to get everything ready for Christmas morning with their boys.
It was going to be fucking perfect.
—
It was not, in fact, fucking perfect — though Feng Xin didn’t realize that until it was far too late.
Feng Xin, excited to surprise the boys as Santa, woke up bright and fucking early. Complete with nuzzling Mu Qing, who threatened to castrate him if he didn’t let him and the kids sleep longer. Eventually, Feng Xin stopped pestering his grumpy cat long enough to begin to doze back off just in time for two small wild children to vault themselves into the bed on top of the both of them approximately twenty minutes later — to neither of their surprise. It was Christmas! Of course the boys were excited. (Feng Xin was excited, too.)
He helped Mu Qing wrangle all three of their boys (after spying Cuocuo peeking in from the hallway where he’d been waiting, not wanting to be too much of a fucking nuisance), sending them to the livingroom to ooh and awe over the tree. Once they were sufficiently distracted, Feng Xin dove into action.
He threw on the Santa suit, complete with a pair of black boots, beard, wig, hat — the whole shebang. He even slipped out through the back door, ignoring the way the cat and dog stared at him confused and betrayed by the delay in receiving their breakfast despite their very awake human milling about their sacred feeding room, so that he could slip around to the front. He held a small red sack carrying a few small gifts and candy canes, knowing the kids would get a kick out of it.
He practically vibrated with excitement as he rang the doorbell.
Mu Qing answered the door, rolling his eyes and trying to hide his smile. “Boys! Someone is here to see you.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Feng Xin guffawed as he stepped in.
He squeezed Mu Qing’s ass as he moved past him, hiding a grin behind his fluffy white beard as his husband swatted his hand away.
“Santa!” Nan Feng cried out as he spotted Feng Xin.
Fu Yao elbowed his brother, a dark little scowl on his face.
“Uh oh, it looks like someone decided to start Christmas off naughty instead of holly jolly — did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Fu Yao?” Feng Xin asked in his deep put-on voice, trying to channel his inner Santa Claus. “I bet I have something that will cheer you up in my bag of goodies, ho ho ho! Do you want to come see? You too, Cuocuo!”
His eldest gasped in delight at Santa knowing his name before he approached first. Fu Yao, however, refused to look at him (complete with his little arms crossed and his hip jutted out sassily). Nan Feng also remained rooted, which was so ass backward Feng Xin had to wonder what the fuck was going on with the twins. Still, he pulled out his oldest son’s gift and a candy cane treat. Cuocuo gave the tiniest of grins. It warmed Feng Xin’s heart to see it.
“Thanks, Santa.”
“You’re welcome, my boy! Ho, ho, ho!” Feng Xin gave a fake laugh and peered at the twins. “Nan Feng and Fu Yao’s turn!”
Nan Feng stared at his brother. Fu Yao stared back, and after a long moment where Feng Xin could only assume they were having one of their silent twin conversations, he finally uncrossed his arms. Success! Feng Xin thought, especially when both twins inched forward. Their body language still left much to be desired. It was completely different than when they met Santa Claus at the mall. What the hell was with them this morning? Maybe he made too much noise and woke them up much too early?
It made him dread the afternoon crankiness to come, but maybe it was nothing a fucking nap couldn’t solve.
Pulling out Nan Feng’s gift first, Feng Xin — as Santa — grinned at the little boy, breathing out another “ Ho ho ho!” as he moved to hand it off. He probably should have kept an eye on the crankier twin.
Fu Yao drew the fist on his right hand back and punched Feng Xin square in the dick. The cry of pain and air abandoning Feng Xin’s lungs was immediate as he felt the jolt of pain through his entire body, all the way to the tips of his goddamn toes. He doubled over, sack and body sagging forward, and unable to do anything as hell broke loose around him.
“Get him, Nan Feng!” Fu Yao cried. “Santa’s a mean bully!”
Nan Feng let out a guttural cry, and while pain throbbed in his scrotum from the well-aimed punch, the other twin aimed a kick right for the shin. Feng Xin cried out a string of curses (“God-fucking-damnit, son of a—”), cutting off his own tirade as the little brat that started it all aimed a kick of his own at his other shin. While both kicks to his legs hurt like a bitch, the new blooming pain continued to pale in comparison to the less than fucking pleasurable aching throb between his legs.
“Boys!” Mu Qing snapped in his ‘you are in so much trouble! ’ voice.
Fu Yao, unlike his brother, had the wherewithal to take off running from the room. Feng Xin, eyes still watering, plucked Nan Feng up before he could aim another or take off after his brother. His shins throbbed from his little fucking soccer stars-in-training. Though, with kicks like that, perhaps he should think about sticking the twins in martial arts. He was sure Xie Lian would love that.
“Take him,” Feng Xin hissed to his husband.
Mu Qing took the twin from his hold as Feng Xin leaned down to rub his legs.
“Nan Feng, why did you kick Santa?” his husband asked, a bit more gently, though his tone still held an edge of trying not to completely blow a gasket.
“Fu Yao says Santa is a bully,” the little boy defiantly announced (and yet both parents could see the tell-tale tremble of his bottom lip).
“Santa, are you okay?” Cuocuo asked, concerned.
Feng Xin blinked. “Ho, ho ho! Santa is fine, little boy, don’t worry!”
The eldest child seemed clueless as to what the hell was going on — much like both adults. Feng Xin, for the fucking life of him, couldn’t figure out what had come over Fu Ya (or Nan Feng for that matter). Why the hell did either of them think Santa was a goddamn bully? Where had they gotten that idea?
“BABAAAA!” The scream from the back of the house rang through the living room despite the fact multiple walls separated this room and whichever bedroom Fu Yao had hidden himself in.
Mu Qing moved swiftly, carting Nan Feng with him. Feng Xin was immediately on his heels (complete with a wide-legged gait he was forced to use given the cheap shot) as he beelined for the sound of that yell. The twins knew better than to scream when there wasn’t an emergency, especially with Mu Qing and his habit of overthinking and worrying. They were loud enough naturally. Mu Qing couldn’t handle the additional parental panic… and Feng Xin hadn’t disagreed.
Barreling into the master bedroom, Fu Yao stood in the doorway to the en suite with wild eyes. And holy shit, Feng Xin could picture that exact same look on Mu Qing’s face. Not that the cute reminder of Mu Qing having an absolute doppelganger in his son was important at the moment, though.
“What’s wrong?” Mu Qing asked.
He sat Nan Feng down on their bed before rushing over to Fu Yao. He grabbed him by the shoulders, checking him over for some sort of injury. He looked fine to Feng Xin. In fact, he seemed the same as moments before when he’d been assaulting Santa, other than the crazed look on his little faux-cherubic face.
“Diedie is gone!” Fu Yao wailed.
Nan Feng rolled off of the bed and opened the closet door. Then he peered around his brother and baba to confirm Feng Xin wasn’t hiding in the bathroom. “Where did he go?”
Feng Xin was torn between holding in his laughter and his annoyance. Why the hell was Fu Yao looking for him, anyway? Did he think he was going to save the little shit after he staged a surprise attack on Santa? Fat fucking chance.
“He’s probably in the kitchen…” Cuocuo suggested, half looking over his shoulder in concern.
“Why do you need your diedie?” Mu Qing interrupted.
He glanced back at Feng Xin, his dark eyes glittering with a mix of complex emotions. All Feng Xin could do was shrug. He had no fucking clue what was going on.
“He’ll make Santa leave! Or beat him up! He’ll make him pay for bullying you, Baba!”
Feng Xin wasn’t sure who snorted louder, his husband or himself. What in the absolute fuck? Where had this idea that Santa was a bully come from?
“Ho, ho ho — Fu Yao, son, Santa isn’t a bully!” Feng Xin put on the deep voice. “I would never do something to get myself on the naughty list. Can you say the same?”
“I was good this year!” Fu Yao snapped with a pout.
“You were, but kicking Santa isn’t a good start for next Christmas, is it?” Mu Qing asked.
“No…” The younger twin glowered at the floor.
“What do you say?” Mu Qing sternly added.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Why the hell not?” Feng Xin couldn’t help but bark out.
Mu Qing shot him a look, and Feng Xin coughed. Cuocuo looked between the two of them as Nan Feng inched closer toward him. Feng Xin slipped back into alert mode — he was not getting attacked by one of his sons again, goddamnit.
“I don’t have to tell you nothing, Santa. You’re not my baba or my diedie!” Fu Yao answered defiantly. “And you made Diedie leave or something, so you can bully Baba more.”
Mu Qing was on the verge of pissing himself from holding his laughter in. It was so fucking ridiculous. Hell, Feng Xin wanted to laugh at the bizarre situation at hand, but the brats shouldn’t be attacking anyone. He still didn’t get where the “Santa is a bully” conclusion came from either.
“Fu Yao, stop it!” Mu Qing gathered himself, focusing on the situation at hand. “Diedie is here somewhere, Santa didn’t do anything.”
“Santa…” Cuocuo spoke, distracting Feng Xin from the conversation his husband was currently having with their youngest twin.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“I’m sure Fu Yao didn’t mean it. He’s just confused,” the boy offered awkwardly, as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Feng Xin nodded, his Santa wig curls bouncing and itching his mouth. “I would never bully your baba.”
“I know, but do you have to leave soon to take other kids Christmas Day gifts?” Cuocuo asked, his eyes darting over to Fu Yao.
Nan Feng sidled up next to his older brother looking guilty as sin. “Do we still get to keep our gifts even though we hit you, Santa?”
Feng Xin almost snapped at his son, but he didn’t want to taint the image of Santa forever. So instead he forced a smile. “You still get to keep your presents — ho, ho, ho! — but you have to be very good for the rest of the year until next Christmas or Santa is going to have to put you and your brother on the Naughty List.”
A look of abject horror crossed Nan Feng’s face. “We’ll be good, we swear — I’m sorry I kicked you, Santa. Please don’t put me on the Naughty List!”
Well, that was easy. Feng Xin didn’t even have to tell him he should apologize to help. Even if he apparently failed in teaching his kids not to kick people… at least one of them had the whole apologizing thing down. For some reason, it felt like a hollow win, though.
Fu Yao had been the ringleader, after all.
Before another word could be said, Fu Yao raised his voice at Mu Qing, cutting off their conversation. “I don’t wanna say sorry! I want Diedie!”
Mu Qing shot him a very clear annoyed and accusatory look, and Feng Xin couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck he had done now. He couldn’t remember anything that would warrant that look. But the upset look on Fu Yao’s face didn’t bode much better, truth be told. He was exactly like his baba — stubborn as fuck.
“Cuocuo, will you sit here with your didis while I see Santa out — and then I promise that I’ll find Diedie,” Mu Qing addressed their oldest and then their youngest even as he crossed the bedroom and grabbed Feng Xin’s arm.
“Ho, ho, ho! Have a Merry Christmas, boys. Santa will forgive you if you write him a letter, little Fu Yao!” Feng Xin called over his shoulder as Mu Qing practically frog marched his ass out of the bedroom.
It was not an easy task given Feng Xin’s new gait. He’d never walk the same again. Fuck, it still hurt, honestly.
Good thing they were done having children. Though, if he couldn’t get it up again, he wasn’t sure how much Mu Qing would appreciate losing all the benefits that came with being married to the infamous “Ju Yang”. The thought brought a frown to his mouth. It wasn’t as though he truly believed his husband only married him for his dick, but he knew its mere existence was a unique obsession of the man’s. What would become of their marriage if he woke up impotent thanks to their son’s tantrum!?
“What the hell are you scowling at me for?” Mu Qing snapped.
They exited the hallway and found themselves in the living room again where all the presents — the ones he had carried in as Santa and the ones already nestled under the tree — remained abandoned.
“Nothing, it’s fucking nothing…” he grumbled. “It’s just — if I can’t get it up anymore, you know exactly who to fucking blame.”
“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.” Mu Qing crossed his arms, his tone turning mocking. “Do you want me to look at it?”
“Would you?” Feng Xin fought back the grin.
He was pretty sure it was okay, even if it fucking hurt. It was nothing some ice wouldn’t fix. He hoped, anyway.
“You’re fine, dumbass.”
“Do you want on the Naughty List too?” Feng Xin shot back, reaching up to pull off the hat and wig.
Some of his own dark strands fell loose and into his eyes as he did. He wasn’t surprised to feel the line of sweat left behind along his hairline, and he brushed the perspiration away with his other hand. This thing was fucking hot. Hotter than he anticipated, but he hadn’t exactly planned for a full blown Fu Yao meltdown either. He was pretty sure that was not on Mu Qing’s carefully crafted itinerary. He knew things were only going to get worse if this ended up making them late to Xie Lian and Hua Cheng’s dinner later.
“Shut up!” Mu Qing’s cheeks, even after years of marriage, grew pink even as he swatted at Feng Xin’s bicep. “Don’t you want to know why Fu Yao decided to stage an ambush on Santa?”
“Did he actually fucking tell you?”
Feng Xin’s eyes remained trained on his husband as he slowly removed every last bit of Santa, wincing as he did because of the lingering pain in his cock and balls. He didn’t remember teaching Fu Yao how to punch, but if that was anything to go by, the kid was a fucking natural. Made him wonder how many times he had probably slugged his brothers. Probably more than he or Mu Qing actually wanted to know about, truth be told.
“Oh yeah,” Mu Qing ground out, “he told me."
“Well, fucking spit it out, babe? What was it? Did he see me in my goddamn closet or some shit? Think I was stealing?”
“Try again.”
Feng Xin rolled his eyes. “Just tell me.”
“He saw Santa bullying me. In the living room.”
Feng Xin stared at Mu Qing. “I don’t fucking get it. When was I bullying you—?”
“Oh my god!” Mu Qing swatted him again and Feng Xin resisted the urge to smile, enjoying the look of consternation on his husband’s face. “Last night, Fu Yao saw Santa. Holding me down, and bullying me.”
“Holding you—?” Feng Xin blinked as his brain tried to catch up to what his husband was telling him.
And then it clicked.
“Oh fuck!”
“Yeah, oh fuck.” Mu Qing crossed his arms in annoyance. “He thinks Santa was holding me down and kissing me to bully me, and now he wants you to kick his ass.”
“I mean, if it hadn’t been me, I would,” Feng Xin snorted.
“Not helpful!”
Feng Xin stepped out of the boots and pants last. He moved to wad them up before Mu Qing snatched the clothing from his hands and began to fold them properly. He bit back a grin as he pulled his ribbon out of his hair to redo his bun.
“Well, what the fuck do we do?” Feng Xin asked.
“I don’t know, Feng Xin. How do we explain to our son that you were kissing me and not Santa?” Mu Qing violently folded the red coat. “That’s just going to lead to him realizing that…”
They both stopped as Mu Qing peered toward the hallway to make sure there were no little ears or bodies listening around the corner. Only once they were sure the coast was clear, and they made their way into the kitchen for good measure, did he continue his thought, “...Santa isn’t real. That it was you the whole damn time.”
“I don’t want him to think Santa’s not fucking real yet.”
“Well, me either!”
Feng Xin followed Mu Qing all the way to the laundry room where he stowed the costume in the cabinet, away from where any of the kids might find it. He turned and leaned against the dryer. He was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and Feng Xin sighed. He hadn’t meant to cause all of this. Reaching out, he put a hand on Mu Qing’s neck and pulled him forward to kiss his forehead.
“We’ll figure it out,” Feng Xin reassured.
“Oh yeah? How are we going to do that? Because I have no idea what to say to him.” Mu Qing sounded put out, but he didn’t pull away. “Should I just tell him that his baba is a two-timing whore with Santa?”
Feng Xin’s hold on Mu Qing tightened as he felt a spike of rage at the insinuation. “Absolutely-fucking-not.”
“Then what?” Mu Qing shot back, but there was a softer edge in his voice, an unspoken apology for even saying such a thing. “That Santa and I were wrestling? There’s no way he’s going to believe that bullshit, and he’s mad at Santa. He really wants you to kick his ass — thanks for that, by the way.”
“I haven’t kicked anybody’s ass in forever.”
Mu Qing glared.
“What?” Feng Xin asked innocently. “I don’t do that shit anymore.”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Dumbass. I’m not talking about that, but we do need to talk about his sudden penchant for violence — I’m talking about how he’s talking. He’s picking up your language!”
“Right. Well, fuck. We’ll pull the fucking swear jar out again, then,” Feng Xin offered. “I’ll work on it.”
Mu Qing scoffed. “You’ll be broke in a day.”
“Fuck you too, babe.”
“Back to the problem at hand!” Mu Qing hissed. “What do we tell Fu Yao? Nan Feng might believe we were wrestling, but…”
“But Fu Yao is too much like you, a paranoid and smart little shit.”
“Feng Xin, I swear to god—”
Feng Xin squeezed Mu Qing’s shoulders once his hands settled on either side. “Breathe. It’ll be fine. I’ll come up with something.”
“The hell if you will! It was your bright idea that got us into this mess in the first place,” Mu Qing complained.
“And I’ll get us out of it, just… give me a shot at it?”
Mu Qing gave him a dubious look. “What are you going to say?”
“Just trust me, babe?
“BABAAA!” the dulcet sound of Nan Feng screeching interrupted them. “WHERE ARE YOU!?”
“You better not ruin Santa, or I swear we’re never having sex again,” Mu Qing threatened.
“Are you punishing me or both of us?”
Feng Xin let out a huffed laughter as his husband elbowed him in the gut on his way out of the laundry room.
“I’m right here,” Mu Qing called through the house, shooting Feng Xin one last near-panicked glance. “In the kitchen! And I found Diedie.”
“I didn’t know you guys were looking for me!” Feng Xin hollered out jovially.
He yanked open the pantry door and grabbed several breakfast items to sit out on the counter. He poured himself and Mu Qing a cup of coffee, sloshing a good amount on the laminate top, while his husband glared at him the entire time. It was all done in a rush to give himself the semblance of appearing busy. And he only barely managed it, his mug full of the bitter dark liquid touching his lips just as Nan Feng came running in. He raised an eyebrow at the older twin in what he hoped was a “where’s the fire? ” kind of look, trying to act casual.
“Diedie!”
“Hey, buddy!” Feng Xin put the mug down and tried to school his features as he hoisted his son up. “I was just getting stuff out for breakfast. Unwrapping is gonna be a lot of work, and we’re gonna need the fuel.”
“But, Diedie, we need you! Fu Yao attacked Santa!”
Feng Xin made a shocked face. “Fu Yao did what?”
“Only Fu Yao?” Mu Qing prompted.
“Well… and me,” Nan Feng admitted sheepishly, looking down with a pout.
“Baba was kind of filling me in,” Feng Xin said, looking over at Mu Qing and then to the child in his arms. “You know that was mean, right?”
“But Santa bullied Baba, so you gotta kick his ass.”
“Nan Feng!” Mu Qing snapped, the spilt coffee already cleaned up from the counter and cat mug in hand — yeah, he definitely needed that pick-me-up.
“Sorry…”
“Santa isn’t a bully, though,” Feng Xin said, putting on an air of confusion.
Then he gasped dramatically.
Nan Feng started. “What?!”
Feng Xin looked guiltily back at Mu Qing and then at the twin in his arms. “I think I know what happened.”
“You do?” Nan Feng wiggled and squirmed, gleeful and excited to hear about what had happened, to know the truth. “You gotta tell us! Right now, damn it!”
“Nan Feng!”
“Sorry, Baba.”
Feng Xin sighed and shot the kid a bit of an incredulous look. At this rate, he was going to wind up on the fucking couch based off the little brat’s language alone. Let alone everything else. Jeez!
Putting Nan Feng down, Feng Xin gestured toward the hallway. “Go get your brothers, and I’ll explain.”
And like a little bolt of lightning, Nan Feng took off. “CUO-GE! FU YAO! DIEDIE IS HERE, AND HE KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED!”
Feng Xin winced and peered over at Mu Qing who was making a face.
“Every time,” Mu Qing cringed.
“I should’ve fucking known better, huh?”
“You think?” Mu Qing barbed back, pulling out the creamer and pouring a splash into both his and Feng Xin’s mugs. “Here, asshole.”
“Thanks, babe.” Feng Xin grinned, looping his free arm around his husband’s waist and making his way into the living room.
Both parents sat down on the rug in front of the Christmas tree in their customary gift-opening spots as the stampede of boys came rushing back into the living room.
“Diedie!” Fu Yao launched himself at Feng Xin, who caught him. “You’re here! You gotta get Santa.”
“Fu Yao, you wanna tell me what you did?” Feng Xin asked, despite the fact he already knew. Intimately.
And for the third time this morning, Feng Xin watched one of the twins dance around what he had actually done. Fu Yao hemmed and hawed. He excused ‘I got Santa for what he did!’ And after several rounds of poking him, the little turd finally admitted exactly what he had done.
Feng Xin frowned at his son. “You know hitting isn’t nice.”
“But he was bullying Baba! You would never let anyone bully Baba, would you?” Fu Yao asked.
He even had the nerve to look back at Mu Qing like he’d just dropped some sort of damn trump card.
Like he was right.
God, this kid really was a littler version of his husband — cute, too smart for his own good, and an utter pain in the ass.
“But he wasn’t bullying Baba,” Feng Xin said simply.
Mu Qing stared at him over the rim of his coffee mug, uncertain as to where this was going. Feng Xin could fucking see the anxiety building. And yet his reaction was nothing next to Fu Yao’s.
“Yes, he did!” Fu Yao puffed out his chest defiantly. “I saw him! He was holding Baba down and bullying him with kisses! You didn’t see it, but I did, and I know what I saw.”
Feng Xin did his best to hold back the laugh attempting to bubble up. “No, buddy, he didn’t.” He sat down his coffee mug. “I was wrestling Baba last night and giving him kisses.”
“No, you weren’t! I saw Santa’s coat!”
“Ew, kisses…” Nan Feng added unhelpfully.
Cuocuo reached over to put a hand over Nan Feng’s mouth to hush him up. It was quite the sight. And Feng Xin could see Mu Qing struggling to keep his shit together. Hell, he was barely managing it himself at this point.
How had Christmas wound up a fucking circus?
“I have to tell you guys a secret,” Feng Xin started, lowering his voice as he leaned in, “but you have to promise that you won’t tell anybody. Not even the other kids at school.”
It had the desired effect as all three boys began to gravitate close, varying degrees of eager to hear Diedie’s secret.
“Tell us!” Nan Feng demanded.
Mu Qing, with a dubious look on his face, only barely kept from moving closer as well. Feng Xin hid his smile at that curious look on his husband’s face. He had their attention, and he just hoped this fucking lie worked. Because if not… well, Christmas might fucking be ruined moving forward.
Nobody wanted that.
“Everyone swear, and cross your hearts that you won’t tell on Diedie,” Feng Xin ordered.
All three boys did it — albeit Cuocuo with a little eye roll. Whoever the hell said the kid wasn’t like Mu Qing because his husband hadn’t birthed him was an idiot. Feng Xin was officially outnumbered by sassy little shits.
“Well, Santa’s coat sometimes gets wet and dirty now that the magic on it is really fuuuu-dging old.” Feng Xin managed to correct himself mid-word as Mu Qing shot him a look. “And nobody wants Santa to leave soot or dirt or puddles from the snow on their presents or their Christmas trees, right?”
“Yuck,” the twins echoed.
Fu Yao made a face and turned to check on their presents. Cuocuo subtly did the same, and Feng Xin fought the urge to laugh his ass off at them. Nan Feng wasn’t so subtle — the kid outright rushed over and picked up a present to inspect the damn thing. That was his boy.
“Put that down! You don’t know if there’s something in there you might break, and we’re not opening gifts yet,” Mu Qing chimed in.
“Sorry, Baba.” Nan Feng replaced the present immediately before scooching back to his spot.
“What does that have to do with Santa bullying Baba?” Fu Yao asked, eyes narrowed.
“Well, you know Baba does laundry really well. He gets all the stains out. He even sews like a pro too, right?”
All of the boys nodded. Mu Qing outright glared at him. Their sons were the only thing keeping the cat mug from sailing across the living room at his head, complete with a hot coffee shower. Well, that and the fact he loved that mug more than life itself. Feng Xin merely grinned back, shooting his husband a wink over their heads.
“Well, Santa trusts some parents to keep extra coats for him to change into if he needs to while he’s delivering toys. Then, he leaves the dirty ones behind to get washed and kept for next year,” Feng Xin explained, looking at three wide-eyed faces. “And Baba is one of those people that was trusted to keep the coat, but I found it and… — promise you won’t say anything, I don’t want to be on the Naughty List — but I had to try it on to see.”
“Diedie!” Nan Feng swatted at him angrily. “How could you do that to Santa’s coat!? That’s not yours! You’re not supposed to touch stuff that isn’t yours.”
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Mu Qing calmly reminded their son, in complete contrast to the way his dark eyes flashed. Whether that was an expression of amusement or annoyance, Feng Xin couldn’t say. He felt himself beginning to sweat at the uncertainty. He really hoped he was salvaging Christmas here.
Nan Feng reigned himself in, but he did so with a scowl that matched Fu Yao’s.
“So, you put on Santa’s coat and bullied Baba?” Fu Yao asked, looking between him and Mu Qing.
“I just couldn’t help myself. Santa is so cool, and I was teasing your baba,” Feng Xin said with a sigh as he hung his head. “But I wasn’t bullying Baba. I was kissing him like I always do.”
“No, you—”
“And I was wrestling with him,” Feng Xin added on before Fu Yao could correct him (and mortify his husband) further.
“So, Santa wasn’t kissing Baba?” Fu Yao asked, a pinched expression on his face, and an unhappy undertone to his voice.
“I was kissing him,” Feng Xin confirmed. “And that means that you were mean to Santa for no reason.”
“And he might not let Baba keep his coat anymore, Fu Yao! You stupid—!” Nan Feng started, kicking out at his brother.
Luckily for Fu Yao, he had good reflexes, and a father willing to block the blow. Feng Xin shot his son an unimpressed look. Christmas violence had also not been on the itinerary, goddamnit.
“Nan Feng!” Mu Qing snapped. “We’re not name calling! What do you say?”
“Sorry,” he huffed, crossing his arms and glowering angrily.
“Do I have to give my presents back?” Fu Yao asked quietly, his little fists in his lap as he stared down at the rug.
Mu Qing and Feng Xin shared a look before Feng Xin pulled him in close. “No, buddy, but you do have to write Santa a letter to apologize. Do you think you can do that?”
“With help?”
Feng Xin laughed, nodding. “With help, yeah.”
“Diedie, you should write a letter too, even if it’ll get you on the Naughty List!” Nan Feng announced.
“Oh, you think so, huh?” Feng Xin asked, reaching for his coffee.
Both of the twins nodded unanimously. Cuocuo, still quiet, didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Feng Xin shifted a leg to nudge his eldest with his foot.
“Huh?”
“What do you think, kiddo?” Feng Xin asked, lifting the coffee mug to his lips for another sip.
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe? I guess I’m still thinking about how Santa tricked Baba into washing his laundry—”
Feng Xin choked and spit his coffee, a coughing, barking laugh escaping his mouth. Mu Qing, for his part, looked torn between throttling him and amusement. Feng Xin couldn’t even fucking blame him at this point, but… it seemed like the little, white lie had worked in their favor. The twins giggled, Mu Qing fought his smile, and even Cuocuo looked proud of himself for his comment.
“Okay, okay!” Feng Xin snorted. “He didn’t trick Baba, he asked him, but you’re funny, smart guy.”
Reaching over he ruffled Cuocuo’s hair, grinning as he looked put out.
“Now that we’ve got that figured out, and everyone is laughing — who is ready to open presents?”
The cacophony from the twins, Nan Feng primarily, volunteering to be the first one told Feng Xin all he needed to know. It had worked. This was all going to be okay. Christmas was not, in fact, ruined. Santa’s identity was safe for another fucking year, thank God.
It might not have been laid out exactly like had been the fucking plan, but it was somehow perfect nonetheless. His family was together. His boys were better now (at least he hoped so, anyway). They were going to have Christmas together.
(Plus, they’d have one hell of a story to tell later. Because no way in Hell were the twins going to keep it to themselves forever. He doubted it would take Mu Qing long to tell at least part of the story.
Holy shit, he couldn’t wait to share all of this shit with Xie Lian. He would find it just as fucking hilarious as Feng Xin did. It was funny. He’d never live it down either. Which was perfectly fine with him now that it had a happy ending.
And he definitely wasn’t going to get laid in the damn Santa suit, but that was something he’d probably be able to live with.)
That was what the season was about, or at least that was what the Hallmark movies Mu Qing conned him into watching every year said, and Feng Xin could feel it now. Warmth settled in his chest as he watched Nan Feng scramble to hand gifts to Cuocuo and Mu Qing to check the labels so they could be divvied out for everyone to open their haul for the holiday.
The boys were going to open their shit, play with it, then later they’d head over to Xie Lian’s for dinner (that he promised he was not making) — and all would be well.
Though, going forward, Feng Xin planned on getting rid of that damn Santa suit. He was never going to wear that fucking thing again. One surprise was enough for him.
“This one’s for you!”
“Thanks, bud!” Feng Xin took the gift, and then the stocking after that, sipping on his coffee in between as everyone’s pile was made.
Once everyone was ready, they began to tear into the gifts. The boys oohed and ahhed, fawning over the toys, books, and shit they asked Santa for. Feng Xin smiled across the way at Mu Qing, who begrudgingly sent one back. After the boys had ripped through everything, then came his and Mu Qing’s turn.
Feng Xin went for the stocking first, dumping the entire thing and finding a small box inside. Lifting an eyebrow, Feng Xin looked across the living room at Mu Qing. He didn’t remember getting this (or Mu Qing getting it). Ever since having kids, the number of private gifts they bought for each other had dwindled considerably. It was hard to keep a secret when they shared finances and usually went shopping together anyway. So, this was a surprise.
“What’d you get, Diedie?” Mu Qing asked, an edge of a smirk pulling at his mouth.
Opening the box, Feng Xin found a singular lump of coal nestled on a pillow. The twins gasped loudly at the sight. Cuocuo held back a snort.
“Santa knew! ” Nan Feng announced in a roar.
“You better write your letter fast, or you’re gonna get a whole bag of coal next year,” Fu Yao added before his eyes lit up with a bright idea. “He’s probably more mad at you than he is at me!”
Feng Xin barked out a laugh that he couldn’t hold in. “Doesn’t mean you don’t have to write your apology too, little man.”
Fu Yao frowned. Feng Xin’s eyes met Mu Qing’s. His husband wore a cheshire grin over the top of his coffee mug, and Feng Xin knew there was no way in Hell he could love that man more than he did right fucking now. Ridiculous Christmas morning, getting caught by the kids… and all.
And, fuck, was he going to make sure to bully Mu Qing tonight.