Better Treatment

Scott grunted as he pushed a lawnmower around his neighbor's yard. It was freezing outside, and there was still frost on the ground. Yet even though he couldn't see over the handles, he persisted. He knew he hadn't been the best boy this year, but even this wasn't worth getting into Santa's good books. He grumbled, recalling how Mr. Drummer suggested to his mom that he could do good deeds around his house to appease those watchful elves that reported on his daily doings. Scott knew the grump only wanted some free labor, for him to do the stuff he didn't want to. But he couldn't back down now. They were so close to Christmas, he could make it on the nice list, and get that Lego set he'd been dreaming of.

Speak of the devil, Drummer came out from the house wearing a bulky overcoat that clung to his belly, and a knitted hat atop his bald cranium. He stopped at the border between grass and pavement, and shook his head with a tut. "You won't be finished by sundown at this rate."

"Couldn't I have a break? My back is killing me..."

"Wait until you're my age, then we can talk about backs," Drummer grumbled back. "You wouldn't complain so much if you did your own chores at home. Now you know how your poor mother feels."

"Yeah, yeah..." Scott gave another push of the lawnmower, the motor vibrations shuddering up his arms. "But surely this could have waited until after Christmas? I can barely push the thing..."

"Ah, quit whining!" As Scott came closer, Drummer proceeded to pull a Santa hat from inside his coat, and hastily shoved it onto the boy's head. "There we go, may as well be festive while you're out here. When you're done with the lawn, I'll find you something warmer to do. Cleaning the stove, maybe..." He wandered back to the house with a cackle.

Scott groaned. His neighbor was deliberately making this tough for him. They weren't exactly on good terms after he knocked a tennis ball into his greenhouse, but this was too far. He sighed. "I wish Mr. Drummer would treat me better..." But that was as likely as catching Santa in the act. After a moment of self-pity, he got back to mowing the lawn.

After a few minutes, Scott was finding it easier to handle the lawnmower. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could suddenly see where he was guiding the machine, as if the handle had shrunk. Plus, the mower itself felt lighter. It was like he'd had a power boost. Feeling newly motivated, he'd managed to reach the halfway point. He paused to wipe his brow, and huff out a misty sigh.

Before he could start up again, he suddenly heard someone cry out, "Oh, my poor boy! You look a wreck!" Scott turned to see Mr. Drummer rushing up to him with a blanket. At least, he thought it was Drummer. The man appeared more exuberant than usual. His beard lacked its distinct gray streaks, and his belly no longer strained against his coat. He wrapped Scott in the blanket, and said, "please, do come back inside!"

Scott cocked his head. "You just told me I couldn't come back in until I finished mowing the lawn." He cleared his throat. Did he sound weird? His voice was deeper, and rougher. It must've been the cold air.

"Oh, nuts to that," Drummer disregarded with an uncharacteristic swish of a hand. "What matters is keeping you from catching your death out here!"

While Scott thought his neighbor was being a tad overdramatic, he couldn't say no to a break he desperately needed. He followed the man back into the house, and the smell of cinnamon and chocolate wafted to his nose. He cracked a smile, Mr. Drummer was baking! He did love his treats. Maybe a little too much, he pondered, placing a hand on his stomach. He retracted it immediately upon feeling bare skin. He hadn't noticed while outside, but his shirt had rolled up his stomach, exposing it to the world. Even his jeans felt several sizes too small on him. And even weirder, there were dark hairs poking out around his exposed ankles, and a trail of dark hair leading from his belly button, into his pants. "What the-"

"Ah, I knew it!" Drummer cried. "Your clothes have shrunk!" Scott felt confused. Could clothes shrink after being outside in the cold? He reasoned that it made sense, coming into the warmth from the cold simply shrunk the fibers. It was that, or he himself had grown bigger. Which was ridiculous. Drummer tutted, and said "Take those off, and I'll find you something else to wear."

As Drummer left the room, Scott wasted no time stripping off those tight garments, so small that they could have been kids clothes. But he was a kid, wasn't he? Looking down at his bare body, he almost laughed at the thought. He was six feet tall, dark hairs gathered around his broad chest and across his sinewy arms, not to mention the obscene bulge in his underwear, He was a man, for sure. Yet he didn't know why, he felt so insecure as he stood in the kitchen in his undies, clutching the blanket around his torso in an attempt to warm up. It wasn't the first time he'd been in Drummer's kitchen almost nude. Slowly, he allowed himself to relax, shaking out his tough body.

"Goodness, Scott!" Drummer cried upon seeing the burly man in the kitchen. Scott blushed, he felt like he had to explain his actions, until Drummer added, "Go and sit by the fireplace, where it's warmer! I still need to find the rest of this outfit, and I don't want you catching a cold."

He did as he was told, stepping into the living room, which was far warmer than the kitchen. He took a spot by the fireplace, stretching out his body. He scratched at his hairy chest, then at his short beard. Something felt off, but he couldn't quite place what. He allowed a stray hand to slip into his underwear, giving his cock and balls a squeeze, lost in thought.

Finally, Drummer came into the room holding a bundle of clothes. Scott snatched his hand back, trying to look like he wasn't just fondling his junk. If he noticed, Drummer didn't say anything. "Here you are, my dear." He placed the clothes in Scott's lap with a smile. 

Scott looked up at the man suspiciously. Didn't he use to have a beard? And no hair? But that didn't make sense, he was a young lad with hair thicker than his own. He was pleased to still have any at his age Which was...What again? Still confused, Scott scratched at his own prickly beard, and asked, "Did you change?"

Drummer looked down at himself, and laughed. "Yeah, I thought I'd get dressed into something more comfortable myself." He tugged on the festive pajamas with a grin. "Plus, I have a little surprise for you!"

The younger man scurried back into the kitchen, leaving Scott alone to slip on the clothes he was given. A white vest, a pair of red pants with suspenders, and a furry, red coat. He held the coat out, and almost laughed. If he didn't know any better, Drummer was trying to get him to play Santa. Sure, he was a little older than the man. Well, a lot older... His beard was white, his hair almost void of any color. And he was a little on the heftier size. But that didn't mean he was capable of playing the big guy.

As he thought this, Scott heard Drummer come back into the room, humming Santa Baby. In one hand, he held a glass of milk, the other a plate of those delectable cookies. He turned around, and gasped dramatically. "Santa? In my house!?"

Scott chuckled, and shook his head. "Now Chris, I don't know if I want to play this game..."

Chris pouted, and sat down on the floor beside Scott. "Aw, but you'd look so handsome in the suit. Don't you want my milk and cookies?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no..."

He grabbed the milk, and took a sip. It was warmed through, with a hint of vanilla and a hearty punch of liquor. Just the way he liked it, he thought to himself with a smirk.

"Don't forget the cookies," Chris added, handing out the plate to the older man, who wiggled his fingers over the plate before nabbing the cookie studded with the most chocolate chips. Chris smiled, and rubbed a soft hand up Scott's furry arm, resting it on his shoulder with a loving grip. "I made them especially for you, Santa."

"Could you stop it with the Santa act? I'm not that old," Scott grumbled, scattering cookie crumbs as he spoke. He may be gray haired and more than double his companion's age, but he was still under sixty for another couple of years. He grabbed the hat off of his head, and rammed it onto his neighbor's head as if to prove a point.

Chris sighed. "I wish you'd at least play along."

"I'm not really the role-playing kinda..." Scott paused as he swallowed his cookie. "Damn, that's good..."

As Scott reached for another, Chris slapped his hand away. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said curtly. "These cookies are for Santa, and Santa only."

Scott eyed the plate lined with those golden, perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies. His stomach grumbled at the sight. He licked his lips, sighed, and grumbled. "Ho ho ho..."

"Say it like you mean it."

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" Scott boomed, his gravelly voice echoed around the room. With a smile, Chris obliged and handed another cookie to the big man, who eagerly nabbed it.

"So Santa," Chris cooed, stressing the word in a way that made Scott want to roll his eyes. "Have I been a good boy this year?"

"You've been a very good boy this year. You certainly know how to treat a man right." As he wiped the crumbs out of his beard, he leaned in closer to Chris and spoke softly, his dulcet tones making the young man shiver. "In fact, you've been so good that Santa's going to give you your gift early." 

"Oh Santa, you shouldn't have!" Chris grinned. He reached down to undo the buttons on his pajamas, revealing his lightly toned, youthful body to his older companion. Likewise, Scott yanked his vest off to show off his brawny, hairy, mature body to his young partner. Each man gazed at the other with a primal urge fuelled by their festive roleplay.

Scott crouched down to his knees, wincing as he lowered down. "Oh, I'm gonna regret this in the morning..." he mumbled to himself. The things you do for your partner... Then he scooped Chris in for a whole-hearted kiss, his bristly beard scratching against the young man's chin. He continued to smooch his lover while Chris' hands roamed around his tough body, cupping his hairy chest, and his soft belly. 

"Mmm," Chris moaned, tugging on Scott's red pants. "I need your present right now, Santa!"

"Okay, Okay!" Scott growled, trying to do the buttons. "But first, gimme another cookie."

"Seriously?"

"Santa's gonna need all the fuel he can get if you want your present to last through the night!"