Under the Mistletoe by Arlene Webb

Nutmeg and cinnamon--two scents Alek would hate for the rest of his life. He stepped away from the large, fake gingerbread house surrounded by a moat of potpourri. Many moons past, he'd made a real gingerbread thingee with his cousin. They'd used their little plastic army men to guard it, and no one dared to touch it, let alone eat the slobbered upon construction created by a couple of deranged eight-year-olds.

Alek resisted kicking the cardboard creation that could hold at least a dozen upright co-workers screwing around after hours. Those same co-workers who expected him, the big guy handy with a screwdriver, to dismantle party-central along with anything else. He headed for the stupid plant hanging just within the reach of the tallest goon there, strategically placed in the corner by the lingerie section. The germ-nut who'd hung the mistletoe made him wait until she'd grabbed some latex gloves, giggling as she perched on Alek's shoulders and hooked the damn ornament to a ceiling tile.

She'd squirmed to plant a wet one on him when he swung her down, and he'd yelped in shock. Not at her, but Alek could have sworn the garland snapped itself toward him, competing for his lips. Fuckin' weird. He'd been waiting for three weeks to rip the plant down and toss it in an incinerator somewhere.

Twilight zone territory, but for some reason it felt like whenever he chased horny shoppers out from under it, a wave of hunger hit him. Alek had found himself backing away from the mistletoe and its aura of lust. He'd bump into the women's stuff, fondle red silk panties and wonder if he had time to either whack off in the bathroom before someone buzzed him to pat down a shoplifter, or whether he should devour about fifty candy canes and cop a nap in the office.

At least there was an end in sight to this gig. For three weeks he'd been bored out of his skull. Finally New Year's Eve and the store closed--yippee--in two hours but he had to stay until the damn decorations were down. If all went as planned he'd have the dusty green crap smashed into a storage bin, the highest ornaments down, take a chainsaw (snicker, if only he dared) to the stupid tree and have an hour or so to settle his butt on a barstool before the ball dropped.

He'd not much choice in paycheck options between semester breaks. Six foot five and ninja reflexes made him prime meat to carry a mobile (seriously, walkie-talkies were lame) and a baton. The cognitive wheels of a birdbrain, he'd turned down the cashier opening including green tights and bell slippers, and he'd gone for the two dollar more per hour security role where he got to wear a suit and steel-toed boots. Alek's first job as an independent twenty-two year old with a worthless liberal art background, buckling over the books aiming for a psychology diploma, was to control the hungry masses at an upscale retail store.

Alek sighed, eyed the mistletoe above his head, and ignored the co-worker eyeing his backside. He suspected Loki didn't have a New Year's Eve date, and the silly stalker wouldn't accept the fact Alex wasn't interested. He stretched to his full potential and managed to pinch the tip of the dangling grey-green vine between his thumb and forefinger.

Wow. It felt hot. Interesting. He'd thought it was plastic, or at least long dead, but it was turgid. Short broad, smooth-edged evergreen leaves were paired along the woody stem and waxy white berries hung in dense clusters of ten or more, throughout the one foot strand.

He tugged and it fell from the chain, missed his head and caught round his shoulder.

"Alek!" The little guy he'd named Loony Loki scampered toward him. "Stop screwing around with a garland for your manly shoulders and check out the assassin dude by the sleigh."

He snapped into ëbetter do his job' mode--ouch--the frickin' plant had latched onto his neck? What the--

"Alek!"

He stopped trying to untangle the monstrosity draped around him, sighed and scanned. Yep. Ten yards away, he'd best hurry. His boss would have a cow. She wouldn't tolerate a middle-aged blonde with humongous breasts and sculpted legs poking out of a slinky red dress, attacking a man on the last night of the year. Miss Hooter ripped the shades from the man's face, snapped them in half and flung them beyond Santa's sleigh. The blonde's voice rose. She swore, using colorful and educational words, at the thin, tall dude wearing a long black duster over his black shirt and pants. Sure, maybe the guy had dynamite strapped around his chest or an assault rifle hidden under his trench coat, but he seemed less of a threat than the person he was clearly trying to get away from.

Auld Lang Syne by Michael Barnette

Terrence's hand cupped the back of Daniel's head to pull him down for a kiss that wiped away his concerns and left him wanting Terrence with such desperation he knew he couldn't wait much longer.

"I want you," Daniel murmured as he lowered his head to nibble and suck at the junction of Terrence's neck and shoulder while he trailed his hand over Terrence's belly, tracing the ripples of muscle and the tiny line of hair that led toward his groin. Terrence moaned in response to the teasing caress, the gentle love bites Daniel placed on his sensitive throat and over his chest. "I want you too, Daniel," Terrence sighed. Daniel's hand was captured in Terrence's fingers and urged downward, but Daniel resisted, a soft chuckle coming from him as he caught one tiny nipple between his teeth and savaged it gently.

"Oh my...gah...." Terrence gasped as he arched into the contact of Daniel's teeth. Daniel grinned and switched to the other nipple giving it the same treatment.

"Please," Terrence begged. "Please I want... I want..."