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Santa's Vixen

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Description: You expected Princess to throw an excellent Christmas party for the Pitt with beautifully crafted cocktails and rainbow twinkling lights and even a…Santa Claus? What you didn’t expect was a sure-fire, no-questions-asked opportunity to sit in your attending’s lap. Thank goodness for those strong drinks.

Content warnings: Santa smut…?, p in v sex, lap dancing, boot riding, heavy use of “naughty girl” and such, using Santa’s boot buckle inappropriately, honestly the whole damn costume gets used in a very festive way, Robby’s face turning redder than the damn suit, Robby's breeding kink making its mandatory appearance, brief Mohabbot, heavily inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s “A Nonsense Christmas”

Words: 4.4k+

--

You shivered in your white winter coat as you approached the address that Princess had sent everybody a week ago. The neon sign at the end of the corner served as your beacon to warmth and alcohol. Instead of hosting at someone’s house, everyone agreed to pitch in a little more this year for a rented-out bar near the hospital. It was your first Christmas party as an intern, so you weren’t exactly sure what to expect from a party thrown by the emergency medicine department.

You had the day off, so you used that time to pamper yourself, style your hair, perfect your makeup, and finally break out that light blue sweater you’d been dying to wear. Your only regret now was the probably-too-short skirt with nothing but tasteful sheer pantyhose in below-freezing weather. But it’s okay, the matching platform heels sealed the outfit. You wanted to dress up for yourself. Not for anyone in particular. Definitely not a man. Definitely not your attend-

“Aren’t you fucking freezing?” You heard from behind you just as you were about to step into the bar.

Your head whipped around, the cutesy bow holding a few strands of hair back bouncing with the movement. Samira approached, wearing an equally weather-ignorant outfit, walking like a baby deer in her high heels, and you just laughed. She had on this glittery, baby pink dress with her hair pulled high, almost too high, in a ponytail.

“Oh, he’s gonna love that.” You teased, waiting for her to catch up.

Samira rolled her eyes and looped her arm in yours, bundling closer in the cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She hummed.

Your eyebrow twitched upward, but your smirk never faded. “Oh, sure.” You agreed, but your tone was still full of disbelief.

The door to the bar swung open, and you both began to defrost. The room was a kaleidoscope of rainbow lights. The warm ones, not the LED ones. Tinsel adorned every surface and wall that would hold it. Vintage Christmas tunes hummed overhead through the speakers, accompanied by a very intoxicated but surprisingly talented Santos at the karaoke machine. You shed your winter coat and hung it next to the rack piled high with dozens of others.

“Over here, ladies!” Princess called out from behind the bar.

You waved and followed Samira to the bar, already filled with pre-made cocktails. “What’s your recommendation?” You asked, eyeing the selection of drinks.

Princess scrunched her nose with a devilish smile. “Depends. You want flavor, or you want strength?” She offered, like a festive wizard at a fork in the road.

“Strength.” You and Samira answered without skipping a beat.

Princess shimmied with excitement and pushed two martini glasses forward, each with a sprig of rosemary, two cranberries, and an enticing pink, glittery liquid. “I call this the Mistletoe Martini.” She proudly presented.

You carefully lifted the glass, inspecting the glitter swirls before taking a lengthy sip. “Oh, fuck, that’s really good.”

Samira nodded, taking another much-needed swig from hers. “This is really dangerous.” She noted, not seeming to care about the speed at which her glass was emptying.

Princess reveled in the praise before pouring a quick glass of Old Soul bourbon and nudging it over to you. “Why don’t you take this over to Santa? He’s a little busy.” She suggested.

What you didn’t see, however, was the mischievous glint in her eyes when she nodded her head towards the back of the bar. In front of an iridescent photo backdrop, sitting in a chair that looked mall-worthy, was a Santa Claus, propping Frank’s children up on each of his thighs for a picture that Dana took with her camera on a tripod. You could tell from this distance, though, that it was a rented costume and a very fake beard. You returned your gaze to Princess, jaw dropped.

“You even got a Santa?” You questioned.

She shrugged with a gesture that said, “What can I say?”

You smiled with the slight buzz that your martini had already instilled before downing the rest in a couple of gulps. Samira nearly choked on hers. “You’re gonna make a man really happy one day.” She teased.

You giggled, waved her off, and grabbed a fresh martini along with the glass of bourbon.

“She might make one really happy tonight.” Princess chuckled before shooing you away.

She and Samira watched you prance away to Santa, impressively stable in your platform heels after downing a martini. Samira leaned in a little. “Do you think she knows who the Santa is?” She asked, ready to watch the scene unfold.

Princess shook her head and sipped her own mulled wine with a satisfied hum. “Not a chance. Dana and I planned this for way too long for this to go wrong.”

Samira laughed and shook her head. “Good. Maybe if he gets laid, he’ll approve my PTO for next month.” She mumbled hopefully.

Princess cocked an eyebrow. “You mean the same PTO that Doctor Abbot applied for?” She investigated, but she already knew the answer.

Samira’s ears burned while she took a distractingly long sip from her second drink.

–

You waited patiently for Frank to wrangle his kids back to the karaoke area before taking a few confident steps towards Santa, letting your dangerously short skirt sway with your hips.

Dana whistled lowly while she readjusted her camera. “You look like a million bucks, kid.” She complimented.

You shot her a wink before returning your sights on Santa. The costume was nice, surely rented, but the red velvet looked enticing to sit on. You stretched the bourbon out to him with an angelic smile.

“Heard you’ve been a very good boy this year.” Your voice was laced with a playful, sultry tone.

Santa hummed lowly and reached for the glass, the leather gloves skimming across your fingers, lingering just a bit. “That so?” His voice was heavy, like maybe this wasn’t his first bourbon.

You eyed the space on his lap and tilted your head. “Is this seat taken?” You asked with feigned innocence.

There was a moment of hesitation, and Santa gulped some of his bourbon before setting it on the table next to him. He spread his legs, just enough, and patted the meat of his thighs. “S’all yours.” He offered.

You giggled and sat down close to the joint of his thigh and hip, feeling the natural, non-costumed bulge of his belly against your back. You shimmied your hips a bit at the unusual feeling of the red velvet against your ass, your pathetic excuse of a skirt providing no protection. Santa grumbled a bit beneath you as you adjusted, and he instinctively stretched the crotch of his pants discreetly.

“Easy.” He grunted as his big, gloved hands steadied your waist.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I make you uncomfortable?” You asked, eyes shimmering with drunken worry.

Santa chuckled, in an oddly natural “ohoho” that sounded very familiar. But hey, he’s Santa. That’s his thing. “No, dear. Quite the opposite.” He assured you.

You giggled and took another brave sip from your martini, feeling the heat of the camera flash. Dana laughed and inspected the picture on the viewing screen. “You look like you’re supposed to be on some vintage Christmas edition of Cosmopolitan.” She teased. “Santa, get your glass, too.”

Santa huffed a laugh and grabbed his bourbon glass from the table, and raised it. You matched his pose, throwing an arm around his shoulders, allowing his free hand to ride dangerously high on your thigh. The camera flashed again.

“Alright, one more picture with Santa. Make it worth it.” Dana advised, a clear smirk on her face.

You pretended to think before leaning in close to Santa’s ear. “Can I kiss you? I’ve been a very good girl this year.”

You could feel the shudder that left his lungs as your breath caressed his ear. He cleared his throat and looked you in the eyes, and oh…they were so beautifully brown and sparkling in the lights.

“A good girl?” He parroted before chuckling despite himself, rolling those pretty eyes. “Oh, I think you’ve been very naughty tonight, kid.”

Kid?

Oh, fuck.

That’s when it clicks. He’s not Santa. He’s Michael fucking Robinavitch. And you were sitting on his lap, your pantyhose the only barrier between your pussy and the red velvet on his thighs. And you…you could feel something very hard against your ass now, and it wasn’t his belt buckle.

Robby saw you begin to flounder and replay the last few minutes, and he had that stupid twinkle in his eyes that he gets when he’s too happy with himself. He sat back, drumming his fingers on his belly while you grasped for an answer, and you just knew he was smirking underneath that fake beard.

You shook your head to straighten your thoughts. Fuck it. You threw back the rest of your martini, swallowed hard, and cranked up the saccharine attitude.

“Maybe I’ve been naughty.” You admitted, leaning in again. Robby swore he could practically see the edible glitter in your breath. “What do you give to naughty girls? Is it a candy cane?” You mumbled before rearranging on his lap, just enough to grind on his crotch with plausible deniability. “Because I think you have one for me.”

Robby tried, he really did, before gripping your hip dangerously tight. “Just smile for the fucking camera. I’ll deal with you in a few minutes.” He grumbled deeply, but his pupils were blown wide.

Just as the final flash burned your eyes, a commotion arose at the front of the bar. Laughter and fake screaming echoed in the room, and you caught a glimpse of a green furry. No, wait. It was the Grinch.

Robby let out a sigh of relief and patted your thigh. “That’s the shift change.” He mumbled in your ear.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, beginning to rise to your feet. He stood with you, still towering over your frame despite your platform heels. “That’s Jack.” He specified.

Immediately, your eyes snapped over to Samira, who quickly looked away after getting caught looking at you. That’s why she wore that little pink dress and a high ponytail that resembled Cindy Lou Who quite a bit. Before you could give her a fake shame-on-you glare, Robby’s large hand guided you towards the back room, not before grabbing his bourbon.

“Why don’t you come with me to Santa’s office while everyone’s distracted?” He whispered in your ear with a heavy tone that you’d never heard from him.

You let him lead you, and you snagged a glass of eggnog from the pyramid of cups on a table on the way to the back, trying to ignore the way Robby’s eyes remained fixed on your ass when you bent over in your skirt.

–

Robby pushed you into a room labeled “OFFICE” that likely belonged to the owner of the bar. With a quick snap of his fingers, the door locked, the sound shooting straight to your pussy. He tugged the fake beard off, and…yes. It was Michael Robinavitch. Your attending. The star of your hopeless daydreaming and sexual fantasies.

You carefully led him to the nice leather chair behind a desk. “I wasn’t done sitting on Santa’s lap.” You hummed before shoving his chest to sit down.

Robby’s grin was unmistakable as you crawled into his lap again, this time straddling either side of his hips. You wrapped your arms around him, twirling the dark locks of graying hair at the nape of his neck, and ground your pussy hard against the velvet of his crotch.

“Aaahhhh, fuck.” He growled, gripping your waist with his leather-wrapped hands.

You let out a drunken giggle, throwing your head back as he began to meet the roll of your hips. It was only when you felt the rough grasp on your neck, like a kitten being punished, that you sobered just a little.

Robby leaned up and caught your glossed lips with his, teeth clacking together, tongues pushing saliva into the other’s mouth. You whined into the kiss, grinding your hips harder on the impossibly large bulge in his pants. His hands roamed underneath the baby blue sweater, the leather touch sending a shiver up your spine. With an unexpected gentleness, he pulled the sweater over your head, carefully preserving your hair and the bow that held it together. You reached behind your back to unclasp your bra, and Robby’s brain short-circuited.

“Fuck, baby girl. Always knew they were perfect.” He muttered, almost to himself, peeling off the leather gloves so he could feel the soft, supple skin of your breasts.

You adored the boyish glint in his eyes as he committed every curve to memory. You reached for your glass of eggnog, taking a long sip, before spilling some down your chest. “Oh, I’m so clumsy.” You breathed, faking a dramatic sigh. The white liquid trickled down your chest, your nipples, down to your abdomen. “Robby, can you clean it up for me?” You pouted, but your lips still curled up in a smile.

Robby nodded, a little too eagerly, before leaning you back in his arms, giving him access to your tummy. His tongue darted across your skin, lapping up the eggnog that threatened to spill on your skirt. His beard tickled you with every move of his mouth, especially when he slurped at your belly button, which sent a surprising tingle to your clit. Eventually, he made his way up, finally lapping around your breast.

He pulled away only for a second to watch the way the eggnog dripped from your nipples, and he couldn’t help but imagine the creamy white drink as breastmilk that you made for his baby because he finally got the chance to knock you-

“Gonna just stare at it?” Your words held just a bit of condescension, and it was enough to snap him back to reality.

Robby latched onto your breast with a newfound energy, engulfing as much as he could in his mouth. You rooted your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to elicit a moan from him. His tongue flicked your nipple with precision, gently gnawing on it with his incisors, and your hips bucked involuntarily against his. He swallowed the remnants of eggnog before reaching over to the other breast and twirling your nipple with his skilled fingers.

You whined again at the perfect amount of stimulation, better than anything you could do with your own hands. “Robby, please…please fuck me.” You managed to squeak.

Robby pulled off your breast with a loud pop of his lips before lifting you off his lap. He spread his legs just a little and grabbed his glass of bourbon. “Get on your knees.” His voice left little room for arguing.

You dropped to the floor with a concerning speed, surely bruising your knees, and began to reach for the massive red velvet tent at the split of his legs. Your mouth began to water from imagining what was underneath.

“Not for that.” Robby’s voice cut through your train of thought. “On my boot.”

You looked up to him with wide eyes to see if he was joking, but you were only met with a stern look that he tended to save for trauma cases. He nursed the glass of bourbon, not breaking eye contact as you carefully straddled the polished, black boot. The sensation of the cold material on your burning pussy drew a hiss from your chest. “Like this?” Your voice trembled, waiting for your next instructions.

Robby’s mouth pulled to the side in a satisfied grin. “Just like that, kid. Make yourself feel good.” He ordered before taking another sip of his bourbon.

You timidly began to rock back and forth on his foot, hips twitching when the roughness of the shoelaces caught against your pussy. You wrapped your arms around his thigh, pressed your forehead against his knee, and found it surprisingly easy to move against the material of the boot after your wetness began to oil it up. “Oh, Robby…” You whimpered.

You began to move at an embarrassingly fast pace, chasing your release. A long, sturdy finger lifted your chin to meet Robby’s dark gaze. He dragged his thumb across your bottom lip before feeding it to you gently. You moaned and suckled at it, eyes beginning to tear up from your impending orgasm.

Robby set his bourbon glass down to reach behind your head, cradling it gently, twirling the long ends of your hairbow. He leaned forward until you could see the thin ring of his chocolate irises fighting against his dilated pupils. “Be a good girl for me. Come on my boot.” He coached you further, the heavy scent of bourbon filling your nostrils.

You whimpered again, grinding harder, clutching the fabric around his leg for support. The gold buckle of the boot caught against your clit, and the icy cold sensation was enough to push you over the edge. Your hips stuttered as they rolled with the waves of your orgasm.

Robby brushed away your tears with the hand that had been holding your head, now caressing your cheeks. “Yeah, that feel good?” He cooed.

Your watery eyes opened just long enough for you to nod, still pacifying yourself with his thumb.

He smiled warmly, the kind of smile that showed pride. Boy, was he proud of you. “That’s my good girl.” He leaned back a bit, shrugging off the large coat that he had been burning up in, leaving him in the long-sleeve red undershirt, suspenders, and the velvet pants. “Now, why don’t you come sit on Santa’s lap again? Think you’ve been a good girl.”

You carefully rose to your feet, knees wobbling, and not from the platform heels. Robby shouldered off the suspenders, allowing him to push the pants down enough with his boxers to free his aching cock, leaking angrily with precum. The air knocked out of your lungs at the sight of it. Thicker than a beer can, longer than a slim can. Jesus, you needed to lay off the alcohol for the night.

Your knees settled on either side of his thighs again, balancing with your arms on his broad shoulders. The sound of ripping filled the room when Robby snatched your sheer pantyhose off your hips, tossing the tattered material across the floor. With his free hand, he slid the tip of his cock through your dripping folds, and you instinctively began to sink down on his length. He threw his head back against the leather chair as you went lower, lower, and…

“Robby, it’s so big, too big…” You whined, clamping your eyes shut at the intense stretch.

Robby huffed a strangled breath before running his hands soothingly on the backs of your thighs and brushing his fingertips against the hem of your skirt. “You were acting like a big girl earlier. What happened?” His tone was enough for you to slap his face clean, but you couldn’t help the way your walls clenched around him even more.

Slowly but surely, your pussy lips finally reached his pelvis, and you had to take a moment to bury your face in his damp neck while he whispered praises of sweet nothings in your ear, pressing kisses along the crown of your head. When you were ready, you straightened up again but kept your face close to his. Close enough that you were breathing into his mouth while he pulled out, brushing noses in a way that was far too intimate for a drunken hookup. Before your brain could pull on that thread, Robby bottomed out inside you again.

“Michael!” You screamed against his lips and dug your nails deep into his traps.

Robby caught your mouth against his to feed you another kiss. “Fuck, say my name again.” He begged, voice cracking with desperation as he pulled out again.

His hips began to slam up into you at a bruising pace, and the sting of his size began to fade away. “Michael, Michael, Michael…” You mumbled, arching your back to take full advantage of the way his cockhead rammed into that deep space that your toys could barely reach.

Robby let you lean back, holding you nonetheless, and watched your tits bounce as you joined his efforts to ride him. “Ooohoho, that’s my girl. My naughty girl.” He growled before taking a quick suck at your breast.

You wiggled at the additional pleasure, slamming down on his cock faster and faster. “Fuck! Oh, fuck me harder, Michael.” You pleaded with a pornographic squeal that would be burned into his brain forever.

Robby slammed a large hand against your mouth as your volume increased. “Gotta keep quiet, kid.” He tutted before reaching over to the desk and snatching one of the leather gloves. “Here, bite on this.”

Your teeth clamped around the leather, and you let him shove more of the material into your mouth as a makeshift gag. The taste of the leather and possibly Robby’s sweat made your walls convulse around his cock, trying to milk him for everything he was worth. “Mmmmmmph.” You whimpered, as loud as you wanted to now, as your second orgasm rattled your body.

It wasn’t long before Robby’s thrusts began to falter, especially now that he held your limp body in his strong arms. “Where d’ya want it?” He grunted, pulling the glove from your mouth.

You took in a deep breath, trying to pace yourself from your climax. “Inside. Inside.” You mumbled.

Robby’s lips quirked in a smile, but the hunger in his eyes showed his hand. “Think you’ve been nice enough for that?” He taunted.

Your lips puckered in a genuine pout, and you bracketed his face with your trembling hands. “Michael, please come inside me. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you. Michael, please…” You begged, beginning to think of bargains to offer just for the chance to feel him release.

He wanted to be a stronger man, wanted to play with you just a bit longer, but hearing you say his name, begging for him to fill you up, turned Michael Robinavitch into a pathetically weak man. “Aaagh, fuckin hell!” He shouted at the first pulse of his cock.

You shuddered and fell against his body as he unloaded his spend into you, moaning with every twitch and release of more cum. Robby’s hands trembled as they rested on your back, pulling you closer into his embrace, while he came down from his high. His chest heaved, and the red shirt was slick with sweat against his upper body. Your head rested on his shoulder, and you got to take in the warm, musky scent at his neck. You think you could have fallen asleep like this, ready to be thrown out of the office by the bar owner in the morning, but a tender kiss to your forehead pulled you back to reality.

You smiled, drunk not on alcohol anymore, but on the presence of him. “Mmm, I wanted this…wanted you…for so long.” You mumbled.

You felt the muscles of Robby’s neck move when he smiled. A large hand brushed over the back of your hair. “Yeah?”

You hummed wistfully. “Yeah…was at the top of my wishlist. M’glad Santa got my message.” You teased.

Robby shifted so that you were face-to-face with him again, and he pushed a few strands of hair from your eyes. “Was it a one-time only wish or…?” He trailed off.

You giggled and sat upright, oddly enjoying the way his softening cock felt inside you. “Fuck, no. Wanted a lifetime supply.” You admitted.

Robby’s eyes glimmered with excitement, his grin pulling impossibly wide on his face. “I think Santa can make that work.” He teased before leaning in for a sweet, simple kiss.

You scrubbed your fingers in his thick beard, something you’d been dying to do since your first day as an intern. “Wanna take me back to your workshop?” You asked, batting your pretty eyelashes.

Robby’s chest rumbled with a laugh, a real laugh that you could definitely get used to. “Absolutely. I’m not done with you tonight, kid.” He replied.

You kissed his perfect nose gently before leaning back to stand. “I thought Santa only comes once a year.” You teased.

Robby stood with you, pulling the suspenders back over his shoulders. “Not this Santa.” He answered with a devilish wink.

—

After an embarrassingly long time of trying to compose yourselves and realizing there was no way to get that stain out of the crotch of the Santa pants, you and Robby reentered the main part of the bar. You both approached the bar counter, where a headless Grinch and Samira were whispering and bashfully giggling a little too closely. Clearly, your efforts to look presentable were futile. Samira’s jaw dropped when she saw you again, eyes locked on the two, maybe three hickies on your neck.

“What happened to you?” She questioned before taking a bite of a very intricately decorated gingerbread man.

You giggled, still tipsy on the martinis and sex, and leaned in close. “Santa came down my chimney.” You replied in a sing-songy voice.

Samira’s face twisted in disgust. “Jesus Christ. That’s more than I wanted to know.” She deadpanned.

Jack just laughed and poked Robby in the chest. “Always knew Santa was a dirty old perv.” He teased before grabbing a gingerbread cookie from the plate.

Robby snatched the cookie from his hand and took a chomp out of the right leg. “Look, it’s a GingerJack.” He mumbled through his chewing.

Jack snatched the cookie back from him while you and Samira cackled. “Fuck off.” He hissed with a smile that broke through anyway. “Why don’t you two go home until you look presentable to be in public?”

You just giggled and tugged Robby by the arm out of the bar, but he wasn’t leaving without one more comment. “The furry convention is in July, ya know?”

The last thing you saw before entering the cold was Jack flipping Robby off with Samira doubling over with laughter. At the first bone-rattling breeze, Robby draped the Santa coat over your shoulders, letting it cascade low enough that it protected your shivering legs where your winter coat did not. “I’m sorry for ruining your Santa costume. I doubt they’ll take it back.” You apologized.

Robby chuckled and put an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Fuck that. I’ll buy ten of them as long as you promise to do that every year.”

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