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Santa Claus is Cumming to town.

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Owen comes home to their safe house from a long mission, managing to convince his boss to give him some time off to recenter or some other bull shit. When he opens the door, he's greeted by Curt pointing a gun at his face, like he expected, but it's quickly lowered. 

After some kissing and cuddling and dinner, they're sitting on the sofa, Curt in Owen's lap with one of the British agent's hands cupping his ass. 

Curt presses a kiss against Owen's neck and says he has a surprise for Owen and he'll be right back. Owen groans and lets his head fall back as Curt climbs off of him. 

He sits like that for a minute or so, only looking over when he hears Curt clear his throat. His mouth goes dry at the sight in front of him. 

His beautiful boyfriend standing in the doorway to their living room and a red, velvet looking leotard, his cock outlined beautifully in the red, just peaking past a sheer tied on skirt, the same color red with white edging. A Santa hat it's perched on his head, and a familiar black collar circles his throat. 

Owen makes grabby hands at him, and Curt chuckles and sashays, fucking sashays across the room, and oh God, Curt is in matching red heels. He stops in front of the couch, plopping down in Owen's lap, straddling him, and wrapping around his lover's neck.

They make out for a while, Owen cupping Curt's face with both hands. Curt is the first to pull away, once again climbing out of Owen's lap and standing up. He extends a hand to the other spy, a knowing smile on his lips, mischief dancing in his eyes. 

Owen takes the hand and stands up, scooping Curt into a bridal carry, moving so quickly the American doesn't have time to react. His arms instinctively wrap around Owen's neck. 

Owen carries Curt to their bed, the shorter man's stiletto clad feet dangling. Owen places Curt on the bed and takes a step back, taking in the sight in front of him eagerly. 

Curt pushes himself up onto his elbow, his chest heaving as he breaths, want clear in his eyes. 

"Are you planning on joining me, O? Or are you just going to stand there and look?"

"Just admiring the art, love." Owen grins and pulls his shirt over his head. Curt is beautiful. He is beyond words. Owen is in love wi-

"I'm gonna make you into art if you don't come over here."

Not Curt's best threat, but certainly effective. Owen's fingers make quick work of his pants fastenings, and he shoves the last of his clothes off before hooking his fingers in the big O-ring on Curt's choker and drawing him into an eager kiss.

Owen cups Curt's bludge and squeezes lightly, causing Curt to moan obscenely into the kiss. 

"Help me take this off." Curt moves away just enough to say, his hands moving up towards the straps on his shoulders, but Owen stops him.

"No. Keep it on." His voice is thick with lust, and it sends a shiver down Curt's spine. Non the less, he feels the need to ask-

"But how-" He's cut off by Owen flipping him on his stomach. The British man's nimble fingers trace up Curt's legs, stopping for a moment on top of his fabric clad ass. Owen squeezes once before hooking his fingers underneath the fabric and pulling it to the side. 

Quickly he ducks his head down and licks at Curt's now exposed entrance. Curt's gasps, not having expected that.

"Owen!" 

Curt feels Owen hum against him. The soft vibrations make him dig his teeth into his bottom lip. This lovemaking just became a competition, and he is going to win. 

"Something you need, love?" Owen purrs, the hand braced against his ass, squeezing teasingly. "You know I'm not a mind reader."

Bastard. Fucking Bastard. 

"You know what I-" Owen cuts him off with a light kiss to his hole. This is cheating, and the competition is forfeit. Curt wins. He arches his back like a proud champion. "Put your tongue in my ass, Carvour."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Owen teases before beginning to eat Curt out in earnest. 

He works the shorter man open with his tongue, drawing moan after pleasure-filled moan from his partner. Curt is away so vocal like this, always so open. 

Eating Curt out is one of Owen's favorite ways to take Curt apart, if only due to the way he doesn't try to hide his pleasure when Owen does. 

Curt tries to push himself back on Owen's tongue, wanting- no, needing him deeper. Owen's hands move from Curt's ass to his hips, pushing him down so he can't move.

Curt whines. He wriggles, and Owen digs his thumbs into his hips. 

Owen pulls back after a few seconds, to an even poutier whine, and pulls on the material covering him. The seams pop, and Owen slips his wrist under it so he can keep it out of the way as he moves back to lick into Curt's fluttering hole. 

Curt writhes and moans, unable to string two coherent syllables together and form a plead. This is one of the things he loves the most about Owen. He knows how to shut him up.

Owen knows Curt's body. He knows it almost better than he knows his own. He knows what every little twitch and moan means. He can tell when Curt's getting close to cumming. 

Owen stops. As much as he wants to make Curt ruin this thing that he's wearing, he wants to make Curt cum from his cock, not his tongue. At least the first time. 

Owen pulls away, Curt crying out in dismay as he does. Curt looks over his shoulder when he feels Owen pull off of him completely. 

The British agent moves to the bedside table and removes a tub of lube. He returns to the bed, sitting next to Curt as he begins slicking himself up. 

Curt rolls over and watches Owen's cock eagerly. Of course, the other man notices, he's not a spy for no reason. He smirks. 

"Why don't you come over here and ride my sleigh?" 

Curt busts out laughing. It's such a horrible line that he can't help it. He crawls across the bed, tears in his eyes, and wraps his arms around Owen's neck, sitting on his lap, but just missing his dick.

"Jesus, O, that was awful. You're lucky I love you." 

Owen, flushed pink with embarrassment, brings a hand up to the back of Curt's neck and yanks him into a kiss, desperate to make him stop laughing.

Curt's laughs turn into giggly moans as he rocks his hips, Owen's cock fitting into the cleft of his ass perfectly. 

He pulls back and grins, pulling his hat off and putting it on Owen's head as he presses his hips back. "Mmm, Santa."

Curt manages to pull away before Owen can shut him up with another kiss. "I've been really Naughty this year."

"Curt-"Owen tries in vain to stop him,  but his boyfriend is very good at mocking him. Too good. 

"I'll jingle your bells, Santa." Curt lets out a breathy giggle as he leans in, arching his back to rub against Owen's slicked cock. "I'll even let you stuff my stocking." He nips Owen's earlobe with a soft moan as the tip of his cock just barely catches on his rim. "I wanna be your ho ho hoe."

"Curt, please," Owen begs. Even he doesn't know if he's ask Curt to stop with the puns, or finally take Owen out of his misery and sit on his cock. He reaches a hand up to take the hat off his head, but Curt stops him. 

"Uh uh uh. If I'm keeping this on, you're keeping that on. It's only fair." 

"Curt, just get on my bloody cock already!" Owen needs to feel his lover's tight heat against him. It's the only thought in his mind right now, and he'll do anything to achieve it.

"Well, that's not very holly jolly of you." Curt giggles. Before Owen can respond, however, Curt lifts up onto his knees. One hand rests on Owen's shoulder to steady himself, and the other reaches below himself to hold Owen's prick steady as he lowers himself down onto it.

Owen watches as he goes, loving the way Curt's face twists in pure pleasure. He's still a bit annoyed, lovingly so, but annoyed none the less, about all the holiday jokes. So as his own little form of revenge, he trusts up, burring the last few inches firmly inside of Curt before he was expecting it. 

Owen supports all of Curt's body weight for a moment as Curt's knees give out from underneath him as he adjusts to the length within him. He presses his face against Owen's neck and breathes heavily for a moment. 

Owen could be an absolute ass in this moment, but instead, he brings his hand up to Curt's hair and runs his fingers through it.

It takes a long, long moment, but eventually, the dull ache of fullness fades into a low hum of pleasure, and Curt can shift without his ass protesting. 

He nips Owen's neck as he sits back, the movement making Owen shift inside of him. Curt smiles softly, wiggling his hips to get comfortable. Owen may be an idiot with horrible, horrible flaws in his bedroom manners, but his cock is gorgeous.

"Y'know, you look kinda cute with the hat on," Curt says. Owen rolls his eyes, hands drifting down to cup and squeeze Curt's ass. 

"Is that ball gag still in the drawer?" 

"Take a compliment." Curt clenches, as if that could deter Owen, his breath hitching as he realizes he's gotten the perfect angle. "Besides, I think your moans are cute, Wennybear."

Owen growls. Curt grins. He knows that Owen finds that nickname a tad bit annoying (he also finds it endearing, but he'll never admit that, and Curt will happily pretend not to know). Curt also knows that whenever he uses it, he tends not to be able to walk the next day. 

Owen hooks his fingers through the O-ring on the collar and yanks, pulling Curt flush against him. He bites down on the skin right behind Curt's ear, causing the velvet-clad man to shudder. 

"O, please." Gone is the cocky bravado for moments before. All that's left is a horny man, desperate to be fucked. 

Owen's feeling enough like a bastard to make this hard for Curt. No pun intended. 

"Listen to you. So needy for me. Well, if you want it so bad, I'm sure you can do it yourself. Ride my cock, Curt." His lips brush across Curt's skin as he speaks. He can feel the shorter man shiver, most likely from a combination of pleasure and ticklishness. 

Curt tries to pull away, make it easier on himself to bounce on the glorious cock in his ass. Owen tightens his grip, not letting him move an inch. 

"No, I quite think I like you here."

Curt whines. Owen doesn't let go. 

He fucked up. He has made an egregious error. In this position, he could grind against Owen's stomach, but his cock is tucked away nice and neat in his leotard. He might have had an easier time if Owen was working with him, but he's dug too deep. 

His heels click as he crosses his ankles, trying to steady him as he rocks back. It feels good, but it's nothing like the blinding bolt of pleasure that could have come from bouncing on Owen's cock the way he planned.

"O, please," Curt nuzzles his neck, trying to seem innocent as well as needy. "I'll behave, sir. Promise."

"No, you won't." Curt whines at the response, but before he can beg, because he's certainly not above begging, not right now, Owen speaks again. "But I suppose I can't fault you for it. You've always been naughty." 

Curt moans, still rocking against Owen. He nods as best as he can. He agrees! He's a naughty slut. He's Owen's naughty slut!

Owen releases the ring and thrusts up into Curt in the same movement.

Owen is a smug, smug bastard. He feels the pinpricks of pain as Curt digs his blunt fingernails into his shoulders, trying to steady himself. It isn't easy, and Owen doesn't make it any easier. 

Curt moans brokenly as Owen sets a rhythm of fucking up into him, hard and fast, enough to make his debonair spy into a cock drunk little slut. 

Then, just as suddenly as he started, he stops. Curt is panting, clinging to him desperately as he lets out a confused whine. "I told you to ride me, love."

Curt pushes himself up, his arms shaking. His hands are still planted on Owen's shoulders, and he uses that as leverage. He pushes himself up and inch or so before letting himself drop back down. 

Curt let's out a loud moan, and Owen tilts his head to the side and presses a kiss against Curt's forearm. 

"Again, love."

This is the problem- or, in Owen's opinion, the best part- of trying to make Curt ride cock. After a certain amount of time on his knees, Curt can't move. Years worth of injuries have made it hard for him to use his knees like he used to. 

He whimpers out a little Yes, sir, and tries again, getting up another inch before falling again.

Owen tells him to keep going, and Curt dutifully obeys. He lifts himself up again and again, before letting himself slam back down. Each time he does it, he can't get as high as the time before. 

Soon enough, he's not even able to push himself up, no matter how hard he tries. 

"Aww, are you all tired out? Seems like you don't really want to cum." Curt's head is tilted down, and his whole body is shaking with, what Owen assumes, is pleasure. 

"Owen, please I... I can't. Please." Owen hears the tears in Curt's voice a second before they fall. One slips from Curt's eye and drops onto Owen's stomach. 

In an instant, Owen's bastard side is gone and is replaced with the caring side. He cups Curt's chin gently, worried about his lover.

"Curt, love? Can you look up at me?" Curt does so, and Owen wants to die when he sees the tears in Curt's eyes. They're clearly not tears of pleasure, and Owen feels awful. This wasn't his intent. 

"Oh, Curt. What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I'm trying, but I can't."

"Shhhh. It's okay." Owen wipes away a few tears that fall with his thumb. "Let me take care of you."

Curt is breathless and sore, and he hides his face as he nods. Owen is nothing but loving outside of the bedroom, he's understanding of all Curt's injuries, and they're less than lovely side effects. However, he still feels guilty as Owen gently rolls him onto his back. He wanted to welcome his lover home, and once again, he's making Owen do the hard work. 

Owen kisses his cheeks, lips following tear tracks up to press against his eyelids. Curt paws at him, trying to make the gross coupley shit stop. It's the worst way Owen tries to make Curt feel better. 

It's successful, Curt does eventually smile and even laugh, but he still hates Owen. 

Curt's knees are still bent, they probably will be until he gets into a warm bath and the muscles relax, but now that the pressure is off of them, he's able to move just a little bit. He uses this freedom to press a stiletto into the back of Owen's calf.

Owen takes one of Curt's hands and intertwines their fingers. 

"Hey." He smiles softly at his lover. "I love you." 

"That's sweet of you. Now please, fuck me." 

Owen honors his request, setting a slow and steady pace, pulling out before thrusting back in. This has gone from fun, silly fucking, to soft, tender lovemaking. Owen wants to make Curt feel good, take his mind off his knees.

Curt reaches up with his free hand to pull Owen's Santa hat down, making sure it won't fall off as he arches up to give him a sweet kiss. He's missed his big idiot. 

Curt can't do exactly the Most in this moment, but he rocks back and smiles at the little moan he gets out of Owen.

Owen uses his free hand to reach down and play with Curt's bludge. He wants to make Curt cum quickly, so he can move them to a bath to relax Curt's mussels.

His lover lets out the most beautiful moan that Owen's ever heard. His hips twitch up, and Owen picks up the pace. 

"Are you close, love?"

"Yes!  Oh god, Owen, don't stop. Let it snow!"

The line doesn't register past the Yes. Owen's pace approaches brutal, slamming into his partner as hard as he can as he grinds the palm of his hand into his dick. 

Curt makes another beautiful, desperate noise, arching up into him. He manages to choke out Owen! As his hole flutters and he cums in his leotard, making a dark spot on the velvet.

Owen follows not long after him, the way Curt's ass desperately clenches his cock, pushing him over the edge. He cums deep into his partner, leaning heavily against the man beneath him as they both try to catch their breaths. 

Due to how their bodies are now pressed together, Owen can feel the wet spot on the fabric, and he grins. He shifts, rubbing Curt's own cum into his skin. 

"How are you feeling, love?" He asks softly, all too aware of the way Curt's legs are more than likely cramped up. 

Curt hums happily, running a lazy hand up Owen's arm. Owen pulls out of Curt and climbs off the bed, stopping to look at the beautiful image in front of him.

Curt, on their bed, in a fucked out bliss, hickie forming behind his neck and ear, collar clasped firmly around his throat,  wearing a leotard with a wet spot in the front and the back pulled to the side, cum leaking from his entrance. 

"Stay right there for a moment, love, don't move an inch." Owen barely hears his hum of acknowledgment that Curt gives. He's too focused on his goal, digging through the closet to find what he's looking for. 

"Ah-ha!" He pulls out a Polaroid camera. After checking that it has film in it, he returns to the bed. 

He takes several photos of Curt like this, all from different angles.

Owen comes around to get a picture of his face, and Curt lets him get one before he sticks his tongue out. 

.Horny," Curt says dazedly. 

"You look beautiful, darling." Owen coos pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I just want to capture this moment forever."

"Fuck off." Curt breaks into a laugh. He's exhausted, he wants a bath and a nap and to cuddle his boyfriend, but photography can happen too, he guesses. Whatever. Owen's a big dumb idiot dork, and Curt will make fun of him later.

Owen stacks his pictures up on the bed, and then steps out to run a bath.