A/N: Merry Christmas, Team Sex Pest! Team Sex Pest is my affectionate nickname for anyone who finds Dean Ambrose appealing. He's a blatant sex pest – in the best possible way. The eyes, the voice, the body.

Anyway, this is a fluffy multi-chapter fic that I cobbled together over the holidays. Forget that Christmas has passed, I firmly believe that Christmas and Ambrose can be enjoyed at any time of year. It was inspired by the Onnit podcast, where Seth said that Dean spends his holidays getting wild in Vegas. That got me thinking, and here is the result…

P.S. I lay no claim to WWE copyrights or trademarks, etc. Everything else referenced in the story is mine.

Please review, and let me know if I should continue with this :D

Christmas Eve

Las Vegas, Nevada

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. You can expect lengthy delays of up to eighteen hours. Even if you do make it to O'Hare, flights have been cancelled due to the inclement weather that they are experiencing there. I can recommend a hotel that you might wish to book into for the night?"

A string of curse words rapidly streamed out of Aliona Tereshkova's mouth. Luckily, they were in Russian, so she doubted that many people around her would understand, let alone be offended by them.

"But it's Christmas Eve," she said pleadingly, her large brown eyes reflecting the desperation that she felt. Couldn't she get her own Christmas miracle right about now? "I have to get back to my family in time for Christmas Day. Please. Isn't there anything that you can do? Are there any private flight companies that I can contact?"

"I understand that this is an important holiday, but there are hundreds of thousands of passengers in the same position. This snowstorm has blitzed the entire eastern seaboard and taken out much of the Midwest. All that I can currently do is recommend a hotel, or advise you as to wait time – which as I said, is up to eighteen hours due to the severity of the backlog."

"Fine. Thank you." Letting out an exasperated sigh, she gathered her luggage together and walked away from the Customer Service desk. Some help they had been.

She dragged her cases over to a column and leaned against them, her mind sorting through her options.

She would never make it from Las Vegas to Chicago on time by car. Bus was also out of the question. Perhaps train could work. Commercial flights had been grounded, but… Aliona pulled her cellphone out of her coat pocket, quickly tapping out a familiar number.

She chewed her lower lip as she listened to it ring, smudging the cherry red lipstick that highlighted her mouth. "Please just answer, please," she whispered, her world having been reduced to a tight chest full of hope and the sound of that dial tone. Her father's bass voice boomed through her ear, instructing her to leave a message after the beep.

Sighing, she left a quick voicemail, explaining her current predicament and asking if he could look into booking a private flight that would get her to Chicago in time for her connection.

Several minutes passed, her eyes lingering on the screen of her phone, praying that it would come to life with a solution to this horrible problem. She didn't know a soul in Vegas. Her family was thousands of miles away in St. Petersburg, Russia. Christmas was inching closer by the second. She had finished work at nine am that morning, then rushed to the airport so that she could begin the long journey home. She hadn't even had time to change out of her work clothes.

The sound of a throat clearing brought her back to her senses. She glanced up, surprised to find a young man standing in front of her, scratching the back of his neck, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation at the desk," he began, looking at her with pale blue eyes. "I know this is out of left field, but if you need some information about private flight companies, I know some people who might be able to help you out."

She watched him carefully, unsure of his motivations. Being alone so very far from home, and stressed out about potentially missing the most important family day of the year, she was on her guard with strangers. However, in this instance, she really wasn't in any position to refuse help.

"I would really appreciate that," she nodded. "Thank you…"

"Dean. Dean Ambrose." He offered his hand, which she accepted, noting how his large, warm one engulfed her own.

"Aliona Tereshkova," she supplied her own name, rubbing the palm that she had reluctantly removed from his grip.

"That's quite the mouthful," he said with a lopsided smile.

"You can call me Ali," she replied, a rush of something coursing through her blood as she assessed him.

"Alright, Ali. I'll call these guys up, it'll be quicker that way. Fingers crossed they can do something for you."

She raised her own crossed fingers, smiling at him as he whipped out his phone and wandered away a few steps.

Well, this was unexpected. A handsome man suddenly appearing to offer assistance in her hour of need? Because he was handsome. He was tall, well built, with broad shoulders and long legs. His blond hair was messy, but it suited him. The most striking things about him were those blue eyes, observing the world from beneath hooded lids, and a deep voice that she felt resonate in her body when he spoke.

"It'll take a few minutes while they look through their bookings," he explained, as he returned a few minutes later.

A brief silence cropped up between them.

"So, Dean Ambrose, was your flight delayed too?"

He shook his head, his eyes focused intently on her face, "Nope. I got back into town a couple days ago. The airline screwed things up and lost my luggage. I swung by to claim it today. Where are you headed?"

"Russia. I have to get back to my family for Christmas."

"You're Russian?" His eyebrows crept up beneath his dishevelled blond fringe. "What brings you to Vegas?"

"Oh, just some work commitments," she replied nonchalantly, pulling her coat tighter against her body.

He was about to ask her to elaborate when his cell began to ring. "It's the flight company," he explained, before picking up and ambling away again.

Aliona's eyes drifted down to his backside, noting the snug fit of the denim over his firm ass. What a joy it would be to cup and squeeze that butt. It was so tight. She wondered if she could bounce quarters off of it. He turned unexpectedly, and she quickly forced her eyes to the floor. He might be less inclined to help if he caught her creeping on him.

She should not be thinking these thoughts about a kind stranger. Although handsome, he remained just that – a stranger. Unfamiliar people were not to be trusted. Her father had drilled that into her from a very young age.

Instead of focusing on that delectable behind, she let her gaze travel around, wistfully watching as families reunited at the arrivals hall. They looked so incredibly happy, some of them sporting festive sweaters and Santa hats, others wearing massive smiles beneath tear-tracked cheeks.

Dean brought her out of the moment, having silently returned to her side, "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but they're completely booked up. The last flights just barely got out, and they're expecting similar delays to the regular airlines. That storm has really messed up everyone's plans."

Aliona resolutely swallowed down the hard lump that had formed in her throat. She blinked a few times, tamping down on the tears that threatened to fill her eyes.

"Oh, that's a shame. Well…thank you so much for trying. You didn't have to offer to help, but I'm very glad that you did. Have a wonderful holiday." She managed to smile up at him, her hands reaching behind her to grab her stack of luggage. She felt the need to walk, despite not having anywhere to go. Walking usually helped clear her mind - maybe it could help her find the solution to this impossible problem.

"Wait – where are you going to go now?" He furrowed his eyebrows, watching as she prepared to leave.

"I-I don't really know," she confessed, instantly regretting this admission. She tried to brighten her tone on the next words - her being stranded here really wasn't his problem.

"I'll get a hotel room. Christmas in Las Vegas really won't be so bad. I mean, who wouldn't want to be here? I'll catch up with my family in a few days. My Dad should be able to help me out with re-organising flights. I'll be fine." She widened her eyes earnestly, hoping to sound believable. Her ability to perform convincingly was the source of her livelihood, she should be able to pull it off with this man.

"Yeah, I don't think so," she heard him mutter as she began to walk away. He reached out to gently grab her shoulder, turning her around to face him. His abrupt behaviour shocked her. He had done his good deed for the day, what else could he want from her?

"Why don't you come stay with me for the night?"

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows at him, her mouth falling open in a little O of surprise.

Ahhhh, so that's why he had been so friendly and helpful. Did she really look like the type of girl that he could pick up in an airport, take her home and bang her senseless? Not that the last part would have been too much of an ordeal…but she had morals, damnit!

"You want to take me home?" Her question was one of disbelief, with a steely edge running through it, as she crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin out.

"No! I didn't mean it like that," he rushed to reassure her, putting his palms up as if to push away her interpretation of his words. "I meant, you can crash at my place for the night. No funny business. It's Christmas Eve in Vegas, you'll have a hard time finding a hotel. Your other option is to bed down on your suitcase here and wait for an update. Now, it's completely your choice, but I know which one I'd prefer."

She eyed him thoughtfully, further smudging her lipstick as she worried her lip with her teeth. She ran her tongue along her teeth once she realised what she was doing. He had a point. If thousands had been affected, as the airline rep had stated, then they would all be clamouring for accommodation in the city tonight. This man had approached her, without any real incentive to help her, and was now offering another solution to her desperate predicament.

"How do I know that I can trust you?" She asked, the challenge obvious in her question.

"Google me."

She couldn't hold back the little smile that his comment provoked, as she continued to watch him sceptically, "Excuse me?"

"You can Google me," he repeated, offering her his iPhone. "You'll get my bio, images, career history. You can even check my record. I don't have anything to hide."

Knowing that she had to keep her head in this situation, she took his phone and opened up the search engine. The first set of images popped up, causing her to bite her lip. "Wow, you really don't have anything to hide…" She murmured softly, scrolling through the professional quality pictures of Dean in a tiny pair of trunks. "Are you a stripper?"

"What? No, I am not a stripper," he huffed. "…Not that there's anything wrong with being a stripper. I fully support a woman's right to choose a career as a stripper."

"But not a man's?" She teased, enjoying watching him squirm. He paraded around in practically nothing for his job (presumably), and yet she had managed to get him flustered. Was that a light blush that she detected on his cheeks?

"Read my Wikipedia!" He insisted, shaking his head and grinning at her as he realised that he was being played.

"You're twenty eight years old, you're from Ohio, and you wrestle? Oh, and you wear a pair of Speedos very well."

"All true - but they're wrestling trunks darling, not Speedos," he corrected her.

"Well, my point still stands."

Flirting with a stranger was kind of thrilling. Everything about this scenario was out of the ordinary, completely out of her comfort zone…and yet, she was loving every minute of it. This man was exciting. He made her feel bold.

Dean shrugged, silently acknowledging the truth in her statement. He was only too aware that chicks liked him. And some dudes, too.

"So, now that you've seen everything that you need to know about me, what do you say? Are you up for a sleepover?" His swagger had returned, he was determined to give as good as he got with Ali.

"Aren't you worried that I'm an axe murderer?" She asked, handing his phone back to him.

"I think I'll take my chances," he drawled, shifting his bag on his shoulder. "So, is that a yes?"

She paused for a long moment, tearing her eyes away from him in order to think rationally.

As the situation stood, she was stranded, alone, in an unfamiliar city. This hot, intriguing man had appeared and offered her a place to stay, on a night when every hotel room was likely booked out. She didn't get any sketchy vibes from him - he actually seemed pretty genuine.

He had a high profile, much like herself, and wouldn't stand to gain anything from hurting her if it became public knowledge. In fact, he had a lot to lose.

"But won't your family mind entertaining a stranger on Christmas Eve?"

"That won't be a problem," he assured her, scratching the back of his neck again. "I live on my own. Look, I know this is weird, and I understand your hesitancy. You should be suspicious, that's a smart reaction. But, I wouldn't normally do this, and I think this offer is better coming from me, rather than any other stranger who could wander up to you."

"Why do you want to help me?" She asked bluntly. There was no point in beating around the bush anymore.

"Chalk it up to my cold, dead heart being ignited with some Christmas spirit for the day," he said wryly, a small smile tugging at his full lips. "Plus, you're hot."

Aliona noticed that he was skilled at dodging topics that made him uncomfortable. She wondered how and why he had developed that particular ability. Hearing his response, and considering all of the information that she had available to her, she finally made a decision.

"I'd love to spend the night at your place."

"Here we are, home sweet home," Dean declared, swinging open the front door of his apartment with a flourish, and stepping back to allow Aliona to enter.

She tightened her grip on her bag as she crossed the threshold, trying to take in every little detail. The drive from the airport had been a short one, during which she had texted Dean's address to her father. There was no harm in having a little extra security. It bothered her that he hadn't responded to her voicemail yet, but she had to focus on being grateful for having a place to sleep that night.

Dean had insisted on taking her two large suitcases from her at the airport, and now placed them next to the hallway cupboard. He went to stand beside her, watching her face while she surveyed the large open plan living room.

"Nice place," she commented, walking over to the floor length windows that dominated the space and setting her bag down. The view of the strip was spectacular from the twenty seventh floor. She was impressed by his taste in décor, which consisted of lots of dark wood and neutral colours. It was minimalist, but masculine. The soft black leather couch looked particularly inviting.

"Let me take your coat," he said, coming up behind her and pulling at the material before she had a chance to protest. A weak and belated "no!" fell from her lips as he dragged the fabric away from her body. Her cheeks burned, imagining what his face looked like now that he could see what she was wearing underneath it.

He exhaled loudly, the cool air hitting her square between the shoulder blades. Goosebumps broke out across her skin, vast expanses of which happened to be exposed at that particular moment.

"Are you a stripper?" He asked, mocking her with her own question from earlier that morning. She put her face in her hands, hoping that this was all a bad dream. Sighing, she turned to face him, taking in his pleased smirk, and the mischievous glint in those gorgeous blue eyes.

"No, I am not a stripper," she replied curtly, mimicking his own response to that very question. "I'm a performer."

"So…you're a fancy stripper," he shot back, running his tongue along his bottom lip as his eyes drank her in.

"No! I'm a singer. I'm actually quite well known back home."

"Psh, Russia famous is not famous. I'm worldwide, babe. That is being quite well known."

Rolling her eyes, she yanked the coat back from him and held it protectively in front of her body. She knew that it had been a mistake to not change before heading to the airport that morning, but she was just so sleep deprived and desperate to get on the plane, that she had remained in her skimpy outfit from the video shoot.

Her management team had insisted that she adopt a sexier image now that she was trying to break into the American market. After all, she had to compete with the likes of Katy Perry and Lady Gaga. If she wanted to stand a chance against those heavyweights, then she needed to draw the attention of a mass audience. Skin was the way to go.

"Eyes up here, babe," she replied sarcastically, secretly pleased with the heated look that appeared in his eyes. The tight red bra and hotpants combo, embellished with thousands of diamantes, obviously did something for him.

His eyes snapped back up to hers, suddenly unreadable beneath the hooded lids. "You should get changed."

Nodding, she retrieved her bag from the floor, while keeping her coat firmly in place over her chest. "Where's your bathroom?"

"First door on the right," he gestured in the general direction, walking over to look out of the windows, his hands on his hips.

As she changed, Aliona wondered how she had managed to find herself in this strange scenario. So far, Dean had been nothing but a gentleman…with a little edge. That edge delighted her. His mannerisms, looks and that voice were all so intoxicating, combining to create a lethal weapon against her female defences. She didn't know why she even bothered to think such things - nothing was going to happen. She would spend the night here, and then proceed on her merry way tomorrow when the backlog of delays had been cleared.

Despite knowing all of this, she still made a little extra effort with her outfit and make-up. She softened the make-up that had been required for the shoot, and pulled on skinny jeans, a soft, red fitted sweater (t'was the season, after all) and black boots. The look was feminine and festive.

She found Dean in the kitchen, brewing up a pot of coffee. He glanced back at her as she entered, his eyes coursing over her outfit approvingly. "You're very versatile. You can go from stripper to angel like that." He clicked his fingers on the last word, another smirk touching his lips.

"And yet you remain an asshole all of the time. What a limited skill set you have."

Their volleys back and forth were proving to be an extremely fun game.

"I'm touched that you noticed," he said sincerely, placing a hand on his chest. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Does a latte count as breakfast?" She wondered, settling herself on a stool at the kitchen island.

"Absolutely not. A little thing like you needs to be fed up." He opened a cupboard, pulling out various pots and bowls. His next stop was the refrigerator, where he piled up the required ingredients in his arms.

"Please, please, please do not make my cholesterol skyrocket," she pleaded jokingly, watching as he threw sausages and bacon into a frying pan, the sizzle and scent quickly filling the air. It smelled so damn good to her, a distinctive gurgle from her tummy confirming this fact. "I have to be able to fit into my stage outfits."

"You shouldn't bother with clothes – that's how you'll get worldwide fame."

"You're right, I should take a leaf out of your book."

Breakfast was soon served. Aliona dug into the feast that he placed before her with abandon, relishing the taste of the delicious grease and fat. Her father would have a fit if he saw her eating this – but he wasn't here, and it was Christmas. Time to indulge.

"Jesus, where do you put it all?" He asked, staring at her incredulously as she took her empty plate to the sink and started rinsing all of the dirty utensils.

"My ass," she rolled her eyes, scrubbing away at the frying pan. "So, what are your plans for the day? I'm conscious of imposing on you today. I don't want you putting anything off because of me. I'll just potter about and try to stay out of your way."

"I had kind of hoped that you would impose on my plans, which mostly involved sitting on my couch in my boxers and drinking until I passed out."

"Like I said, don't put that off because of me," she jested, drying the plates and replacing them in the cupboard.

"Well, what would you normally do on Christmas Eve?" He offered her a second cup of coffee when she returned to the island, dropping a mountain of sugar into the dark liquid at her request.

"Work. There are carols to be sung, toys to be delivered to the children's hospital, videos featuring me in tiny shorts to be made." Aliona didn't exactly sound enthusiastic about all of the above.

"I thought you were all about time with your family. What are your traditions?" It was difficult for Dean to not let his mind wander to these tiny shorts that she mentioned, but he tried his damnedest to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

"…Work," she said, not sounding half as sure of herself now. "I just like to be with them on Christmas Day."

"No exchanging presents the night before? No mulled wine and fist fights? No visiting a jolly old fat man at the mall?" His experience of Christmas had hardly been conventional, but even he could tell that her customs were not the norm.

She shook her head, her eyes cast downward, while her fingers played with the edge of the coffee coaster. "No. I've never met Santa Claus."

"Seriously?" A look of disbelief crossed his face, the suddenly quiet girl before him further piquing his interest.

When she didn't respond, he brought his palms down to the countertop with a bang and stood up. "Right, that's it. Let's go."

Aliona peeked up at him from beneath her long, dark eyelashes. "Go where, exactly?"

"We're going to make sure that you enjoy your first American Christmas, with all of the trimmings. You're going to sit on a fat old man's lap today. You're going to drink alcohol until you start saying inappropriate things. You're going to eat your weight in chocolate. I won't be satisfied until you are a merry, messy girl who can't move because she's so full of hooch and food and sausage."

"Sausage?"

"Yeah, you'll be stuffed full of sausage by the time this day is over."

Rather than the flurries of snow that she was accustomed to on Christmas Eve, the air was balmy around them as they left the car and walked toward the mall entrance. It was seventeen degrees, a completely foreign notion to Aliona. Her sweater already felt a little too warm, a thought that left her when the cool air of the mall hit.

"Now, first things first," Dean announced, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket and removing a pen from behind his ear. When had he even put it there…?

"You've got a list? You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" She said, smiling when he winked at her.

"I've got a list, and I'm checking it twice, " he said in a sing-song voice, "but the question is – have you been naughty or nice?"

Those words woke her sex right up. Aliona attempted to ignore the intimate clench. "Oh, I have been the nicest this year. Promise."

He assessed her thoughtfully, pursing his lips, "Hmm, I don't know if I believe that, but we'll let it slide for the moment. We're going to reconcile a deep wrong right now – you're going to meet Santa. He's up there in his ice-castle, come on, let's go!"

Dean bounded away from her, making it difficult for her to keep up with his long stride. Aliona giggled as she jogged along, rolling her eyes as he pulled faces at her on the escalator, before dragging her along to Santa's residence.

The long line was thronged with harried looking parents, and bratty kids yelling and crying at the top of their lungs. Aliona looked at them warily, wondering if this was an experience that she was better off never having.

"Don't worry, I've got this," he whispered, moving away from her and walking toward a bored looking elf, who stood guard at the entrance to the castle. As soon as he approached, she immediately perked up, adjusting her hat self-consciously. Dean leaned a hand casually against the wall, giving her his undivided attention, and threw a devastatingly cute smile her way.

Aliona felt envious of the elf, who blushed and smiled up at him, her eyes glinting. It would be a truly wonderful thing to be on the receiving end of Dean Ambrose's charm. Aliona had already had a small taste of it, but he had yet to fully blast her with it. She could only dream that it would actually happen.

Oh, well. Keep dreaming.

A few minutes later, he swaggered back over, took her by the elbow and led her inside the castle.

"What are you doing?" She hissed. "We can't just skip the line."

"Oh yes we can," he replied, pushing her deeper into the belly of the wooden structure. A thick red carpet swallowed the sound of their footsteps, the walls adorned with sketches of Santa doing various activities, including skiing and feeding his reindeer. They rounded a corner and met another elf who sprang to life, just like her elven sister had, at the sight of Dean.

"Hey Jessica, Sarah told me that it'd be cool if we came through real quick," he said smoothly, putting his arm around Aliona's shoulders and pulling her into his side. She tried to play along as well as she could, unused to the spontaneity that characterised life with Dean Ambrose.

"Oh, of course," Jessica replied quickly, her eyes full of warm approval…and a little something extra. "Who's this?"

Well, Jessica certainly was blunt, wasn't she?

"This is…," Dean began, looking down at Aliona with pitying eyes. "Her name is unpronounceable, to be honest, but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that she has lived a very tragic life to this point. She's an orphan from Russia, who has never celebrated Christmas. She has never even met Santa Claus."

He paused for dramatic effect, as Jessica's eyes opened wide in horror, her hand covering her mouth.

"Isn't that just the saddest thing that you have ever heard, Jessica?" Dean asked sincerely, gazing directly at the elf, his blue eyes full of sorrow.

Jessica nodded her head fervently, sparing a second to glance at Aliona, before immediately turning her attention back to the man in front of her. "That's just horrible," she breathed.

Aliona's eyes flew back and forth between the pair, her brow furrowed in confusion. What the hell was he doing?

She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by Dean's finger on her lips. "Shhhh, sweetheart," he whispered soothingly. "Don't panic. I know this is very overwhelming for you."

Aliona, realising that she would never win against his charm offensive, opted to snake her arm around his waist and pinch his side instead.

He didn't even flinch. Damn, he was good at this.

"She's sixteen years old," he continued, rubbing his hand reassuringly over her shoulder. "I know what you're thinking – she looks pretty haggard for sixteen, but these Russian peasants age much faster than you and I, Jessica."

Aliona's fingers skirted beneath his shirt, before she dug her nails into the smooth flesh of his back. This time, he jumped slightly at the unexpected sting. He smiled down at her patronisingly. "Take it easy, sweetheart. I know you're eager to sit on that old man's lap, but you must be patient."

She couldn't help herself. She grunted. Jessica eyeballed her disapprovingly when she thought that Dean wasn't looking.

"Who's next, Jessica?" A deep voice boomed from beyond the red velvet curtain that led into the next room.

Santa sounded tired, and a little pissed off. Aliona gulped loudly.

"Don't be afraid, little one," Dean said in a hushed tone, squeezing her shoulder.

Little one?Aliona's face said it all – he was dead the very second they left this public place.

He pushed her through the curtain, causing her to stumble into the centre of the room. She glanced around in a daze, stilling when she saw the man himself sitting on an elaborate throne. His eyes lit up when he spotted her, shifting in the chair and gesturing for her to come forward and sit on his lap.

Santa sure did seem…friendly, all of a sudden. Aliona looked at Dean, silently pleading with him to make this all stop. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back against the far wall, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Santa wants to get to know you better, and make up for all of those lonely years in Russia. Damn Communism, depriving a little girl of Santa Claus!" His voice cracked with emotion on the last few words, causing Jessica to sigh dreamily at him.

The elf quickly briefed Santa on Aliona's history. The jolly old man looked disturbingly pleased upon hearing the heartbreaking tale.

"Come here, my dear," he said encouragingly, patting his thighs. "Santa would like to hear all about your Christmas wishes. No dream is too small. Tell me everything you desire."

Her face scrunched up in horror, disgusted by this perverted old lech. He was enjoying this way too much. Almost as much as the perverted young lech, who had gotten her into this messed up situation, was.

"Don't worry, Santa. Don't let her expression fool you. She's very excited to meet you. Go on, sweetheart. Santa's time is precious. Get moving."

She was this close to decking him, instead of the halls.

Realising that this would only end with her being nestled in Santa's lap, she reluctantly sidled over to him and climbed up. She almost immediately bolted back up when she felt what must have been a candy cane in Santa's pocket. Yes…that's what it was…a candy cane…

She briefly wondered if she could ask Santa to get her a few counselling sessions after this traumatic experience.

"Now my dear, have you been nice this year, or have you been naughty?" His tone was a bit strained as he leaned in to breathe the question against the shell of her ear. She shivered, repulsed by his closeness. However, deciding to make this as difficult as possible for everyone involved, she played along.

Throwing her arms around his neck, and avoiding the candy cane that lurked somewhere in his lap, she tilted her head back and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. Her words came hard and fast in rapid Russian, rattling off the list of her biggest hits since she had made her singing debut on national television aged twelve.

Dean's expression was adorably muddled, his eyebrow quirked up in confusion as he tried to make out her words. Quickly catching on, he nodded knowingly and held up his index finger.

"How silly of me. I sometimes forget that she's simple-minded and can only speak one language. Allow me to translate."

Aliona's head swivelled toward him very slowly, glaring at him. This boy just would not quit.

"She would like a nice warm bed, and a square meal every day," he said solemnly. She noticed that Jessica had wandered over to where Dean was lounging, having snapped a few shots of her and the old man together, the elf's eyes never leaving his face. "Such humble dreams, but like I said, she's a pretty unsophisticated girl."

A few choice curse words slipped out of her mouth, promising that he would pay for this little debacle.

"She wants pussy, too."

Aliona stared at him, unable to control the comical spluttering noise that burst out of her mouth.

"A little pussy to keep her company during those harsh winter months." He was watching her, another smirk twisting his lips, his eyes dancing with delight as he watched her squirm and attempt not to laugh.

Regaining her composure, she looked him dead in the eye and murmured in her mother tongue, "I'd rather have you to keep me company during those harsh winter months."

"She also said that her greatest pleasure would be to come and live with me and my family full time."

Despite the foreign tongue, he seemed to have caught at least some of her meaning. She was impressed by his performance. He never broke character. She wondered if that was an overlap between his professional and personal life.

"Well, dear, I will do my very best to make all of your wishes come true," Santa promised, shifting beneath her. "Every little girl should have a bed, a meal and a kitty cat for company. I'll see what I can do about your wish for a family."

Aliona smiled benignly, watching as Jessica said breathlessly to Dean, "That is so kind of you, helping out a needy girl."

He shrugged humbly, "I could never say no to a needy girl."

Aliona laughed suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Taking a deep breath, she smiled, deciding to end this charade once and for all…by telling the truth. "Santa, you have...treat for me...in pants…?"

The man's eyes widened, taken aback at her calling him out. He quickly shoved her from his lap and kept his head down as he dusted himself off. "Alright, run along little girl. Merry Christmas."

Jessica sighed, reaching into a bucket nearby and thrusting a wrapped gift into Aliona's hands. She waved coyly at Dean as he pushed off from the wall and took Aliona's hand, pulling her toward the entrance. "Thanks, Santa. Thanks, Jessica." He winked at the latter as they slipped out of the castle.

Aliona immediately turned to him and began to use her gift as a weapon, whacking him on the chest and arms. "You jerk! What the fuck was that about?"

"That was about the magic of Christmas, Ali," he replied, easily fending off her blows. He caught her hands in his, trapping them behind her back and pulling her against his chest. "That was a moment that you will hopefully never forget." His whispered words brushed hotly over her neck. She just about managed to suppress a shiver of pleasure. "It's just a shame that Santa didn't get to show you the surprise that he had for you in his pants."

In an attempt to break free from his hold, she brought her foot back and kicked him in the shin. This action threw her off balance, causing her to lurch forward and clock him in the jaw with her forehead in the process.

That seemed to wipe the smug look from his face.

At least for a little while.