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That first time Peter went to the reindeer outpost, his parents didn’t notice that he had gone missing. He had always been good at math, so he’d told his parents he had joined the Mathletes at his high school, which gave him a good reason to be away in the afternoons or on a Saturday. He was able to slip away regularly for training throughout the next few winter months.
Because the busy holiday season had passed, the outpost was quiet, just a few guys stopping by for training on the weekends. Dasher Dan, the one who’d welcomed Peter his first time, was in charge of new member orientation, and he taught Peter how to summon the shift whenever he wanted. One day after they had practiced takeoffs and landings, Peter started asking questions. “Where do my clothes go when I shift?”
“I can’t tell you,” Dan said. “I just know that whatever you’re wearing before you shift comes back to you when you go human again.”
“When I’m just being me, I weigh about a hundred-eighty pounds. But once I shift, I’m a lot bigger. Where does that extra weight come from? The hide and the horns and the hooves?”
“That’s the magic.” Dan shrugged. “I wish I had a better explanation for you, but I don’t. Maybe this is something that our kind have always had. Or maybe Santa gave us some extra magic. All we have to do is believe in it.”
“Are there any restrictions I should know about? Places I can’t shift from? Times I can’t shift?”
“I don’t suggest you shift in the middle of a crowded shopping center,” Dan said. “Pick somewhere private, without anyone else around. Everyone I know lives somewhere it snows. And since our work is centered around Christmas, we don’t have to shift in the spring or summer. I don’t know that we can’t, just that we don’t.”
There were a half-dozen other Dashers based at the outpost, Dasher Dave and Dasher Don among them. Dashers were the most common, seconded by Comets; there were three other Prancers, and only two Vixens, Vic and Virgil.
Peter and Dan walked into the lounge, where Comet Chris made popcorn and Vixen Vic and Blitzen Bruce played foosball.
“Where else are there outposts?” Peter asked.
“There are a couple sprinkled across Canada,” Dan said. “A few in the northern plains of the US, and of course Lapland and Russia. At least one in Patagonia and one in New Zealand. There’s a whole computer program that arranges our deliveries by latitude, longitude, and the weight of the load. The elves take care of that. All we do is fly.”
“If there are a whole bunch of teams, how can Santa be with each one?”
“The big guy never leaves the North Pole anymore,” Dan said. “We have an animatronic Santa who interacts directly with Command Central. The sleigh pretty much flies itself, we just provide the horsepower.”
“Or deer power,” Comet Chris said as he brought the popcorn into the lounge in a big bowl and everybody dug in. Chris was the oldest of the shifters Peter had met, in his forties, a tall, rangy guy who had run track in college and whose claim to fame was that he had once run a mile in under four minutes during a meet. He was still one of the fastest moving of the shifters at the outpost, and sometimes Peter was stunned to see that even in human form, Chris could move so quickly, his body a blur.
“I think you’re ready for your first assignment,” Dan said as he took a big handful of popcorn. “We’ve got a transport scheduled for this Saturday, and we can use your help.”
“Transport?” Peter asked.
“One of the Cupids at the Swiss outpost is a logistics expert, and he suggested that instead of all of us heading to the North Pole to get loaded up on Christmas Eve, we bring shipments of gifts down throughout the year so that we can take off directly from our outposts. The first load for us is ready.”
“Do we have our own sleigh?” Peter asked.
Dan shook his head. “We do these transports as individuals in a herd. The elves will have pallets ready for us to attach to our harnesses. You’ll see how it works.”
The following Saturday, Peter told his parents that he’d be away all day, and walked out to the woods behind his house, where he had found a sheltered clearing where he could shift and take off without anyone noticing.
At the outpost, he joined a team of a dozen shifters. “You tag along behind me,” Dasher Dan said to him, and when they took off, Peter made sure to stay in Dan’s slipstream. It only took about ten minutes before the herd came in for a landing at a strip beside a huge factory complex, all of it snowy white so that it almost completely blended into the landscape.
Peter was in awe of the complexity of the operation. There were separate buildings for bicycles, dolls, and electronics, among other items. Dan introduced him to an elf named Fingolfin, a tall, slim man with shoulder-length white hair and a thin gold circlet around his forehead. “Whenever you come up here, either as part of a herd or on your own, Fin will be your coordinator,” Dasher said. “He’ll know what’s ready for shipment to our outpost, and he’ll get you fitted up.”
Peter wasn’t surprised that Fin’s hand was cold when they shook. “I expected you guys to be a lot shorter,” Peter said. “And wearing those little hats and boots.”
“We’re more like Tolkien elves,” Fin said. “Though a couple of us are height challenged, as we’re learning to say.” He leaned close. “There was a lot of inbreeding with dwarves at one point, but now it’s not politically correct to point that out. And even if an elf makes you angry, never say, ‘Your mother was a dwarf.’ Those are fighting words up here.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Peter said.
“Come with me,” Fin said. “The big guy likes to meet all the new recruits.”
Peter gulped. “You mean Santa?”
“Who else? And don’t worry if you’ve been naughty. He doesn’t really care.”
Of course that meant Peter could only think of the many ways he’d misbehaved as a kid, from talking back to his parents, to watching porn and jerking off, down to lying about where he went when he flew off.
Santa looked much as he did in the video Peter had watched his first day at the outpost—neatly combed white hair and goatee, though he wore khaki slacks and a fisherman’s sweater with a cowl neck. “Pleased to meet you, Peter,” he said. “I think you’ll make a fine Prancer, and I’m glad you’re joining our team.”
“Thank you,” Peter squeaked.
Santa leaned close. “And about that magazine you shoplifted a couple of years ago, the one with the good-looking naked men? Might be a good idea if you went back to that store and left a couple of bucks to make things right.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
“Well, have to get back to work now,” Santa said. “I have a conference call with our Swedish operation. Something about trouble understanding assembly instructions.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I think IKEA stands for Idiots Kan’t Explain Anything.”
He walked away, and Fin led Peter back to the warehouse. “Does he really know everything?” Peter asked.
“He is a wizard, after all,” Fin said. “But lot of what he knows is really his empathy, his ability to see into us and see what holds us back, and then gently show us the way forward.”
They arrived at a huge pallet of wrapped presents, each of them with a bar-coded tag that indicated what it contained, who it was intended for, and where it should be delivered. The pallet was nearly ten feet tall. “I’m supposed to carry that?” Peter asked.
“You’re more like a guidance system for it,” Fin said. “There’s a tiny motor embedded in the framework. Why don’t you shift and I’ll harness you up. You’ll see how it works.”
Peter looked down at the white floor and pawed it twice with his right foot as Dasher Dan had taught him. He closed his eyes and imagined his reindeer form, and the shift occurred.
“You do that so smoothly,” Fin said. “Not like a lot of the guys I work with. Good job.”
He slipped a harness around Peter’s neck and tied straps beneath his belly. Then he patted Peter’s neck. “You’re good to go,” he said. “Just take off, and the cargo will follow you.”
It was a strange sensation to have the cargo trailing behind him, and Peter found he couldn’t fly as quickly as he could when he was on his own, but Fin was right, the pallet was able to move on its own, and Peter only had to keep steady to his course. When he came in for a landing, the pallet bumped on the ground a couple of times but stayed intact.
“Good job, Prancer,” Comet Chris said as Peter shifted back into human form and the traces dropped from his shoulders. “You’re a natural for this.”
And yet, Peter thought, there was nothing natural about this whole operation.
He began spending every weekend at the outpost. His parents were impressed at his dedication to the math team, but Peter was enthralled with everything he was learning.
One Saturday, he and Vixen Vic were the only guys there—everyone else was either busy with their personal lives or out on a training mission.
“You want a beer?” Vic asked. He was about five or six years older than Peter, a ski bum in the New Hampshire mountains. He was in awesome shape—Peter had gotten a glimpse of him once or twice in the shower, marveling at his bulging calves and thighs, and a butt you could crack walnuts with.
“I’m only eighteen,” Peter said. “Not old enough to drink yet.”
“Fuck that,” Vic said, handing him a cold bottle from the fridge. “You’re old enough to fly, you’re old enough to drink.” He looked at Peter. “And fuck, right? You’re not still a virgin, are you?”
Peter blushed furiously, even more so when he looked down and saw Vic’s dick pressing against his sweatpants.
“You are!” Vic crowed. “A good-looking stud like you? You must have guys panting after you.” He elbowed Peter. “Come on, there must be some dude on the football team you’ve got the hots for. Or do you like the artsy-fartsy types? Eye shadow and emo music?”
“There’s nobody.” Peter hesitated, then leaned close. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything you want.” Vic had a disturbingly sexy gleam in his eye.
“Do you... Can you...” He gave up. “The first time I shifted was when I was jerking off. Did that happen to you?”
“That must have been a hell of a jack off,” Vic said, laughing. “They say that the ability to shift comes on with puberty, but the first time I shifted was when I was skiing down a mountain. I was airborne for like a minute, then landed on all fours and fell on my ass. My buddies got a big kick out of seeing me sprawled out on the ground like that.”
“But they didn’t see you shift?”
Vic shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t shift again until the day I showed up here.”
“Same with me.”
Vic took a long swig of his beer, and Peter did the same. It had a surprisingly tart, lemon-like finish. “But getting back to business,” Vic said. “How come you haven’t gotten laid yet? You’re not a closet case, are you?”
“Not really. I mean, I’ve told a couple of my friends. About being gay, you know. Not about shifting. But I’ve been afraid that...well, you know.”
“What?”
“That I’d shift in the middle of having sex,” Peter blurted out.
Vic laughed. “Oh, buddy, it doesn’t work like that. Hasn’t Dasher Dan taught you anything? Once you get past your first few times, and you start to control the shift, you have to focus on it to make it happen.”
Peter blew out a long breath. Maybe it was the information, or maybe the beer, but he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. And emboldened. “You’re like, bi, right?” he asked Vic. “So you get it on with both boys and girls?”
“Yeah, but I’m more into guys.” He looked Peter up and down and licked his lips. “Especially guys who look like you.”
He stepped up close to Peter, in his personal space. “I’d love to take some reindeer cherry,” he said in a low growl. “If you’re into it. I can show you a great time.”
Peter didn’t say anything, just leaned over and kissed Vic. He’d kissed a couple of girls by then, even one boy who wanted to give it a try, so he knew enough to start out slowly, pressing his lips against Vic’s, feeling that first tingle of contact.
But then, some inner animal part of him took over. Maybe he was reacting to Vic, maybe he was letting go after holding back for so long, but he opened his lips and darted his tongue out to dance against Vic’s lips. He smelled Vic’s scent, a very masculine musk that inflamed him even more.
Vic put one meaty hand around Peter’s head and mashed their lips together. He and Vic both opened their mouths, each attempting to devour the other. Vic moved so quickly it was like magic, the way he was at Peter’s mouth, then his chin, his ear lobe, his cheek, back to his lips.
Peter’s heart raced, and his dick was so hard he thought he was going to come right then. Eventually Vic moved lower, down Peter’s neck, opening a couple of buttons of Peter’s plaid flannel shirt to lick and nibble at the top of his chest.
“Too many clothes,” Vic growled, and Peter hurried to slip off his sweatshirt. Vic pulled the neck of Peter’s white T-shirt down and kept licking and nibbling, and when he backed away for a second, Peter pulled his T-shirt off. He felt so wanton then, consumed with lust as the chilly air of the lounge hit his bare flesh, but he warmed up quickly as Vic took his right nipple in his mouth and began to lick and suck it.
That was something Peter hadn’t anticipated. He’d seen guys sucking on tits in videos and couldn’t figure out why. Now he knew. He squirmed beneath Vic’s exploring tongue, his fingers, his scent.
Vic stepped back and stood up. “Come with me,” he said, and he turned toward the dormitory. Peter picked up his sweatshirt and T-shirt and followed, his dick straining against his pants harder than he’d ever felt.
“I want you naked, on the bed,” Vic said, pointing to the single bed that was assigned to him, beneath a woodcut of a reindeer with a wicked-looking smile.
Peter quickly kicked off his boots and socks, then dropped his pants and briefs. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at Vic as Vic stripped. “Not like that,” Vic said, pausing as he undid his pants. “On your back. Open up to me, baby. Show me that you want it.”
Peter thought his stiff dick was evidence enough of that, but he lay down on his back, his legs spread. He balanced on his elbows as Vic bounded on to the bed, naked, his skin aglow. He lowered his head so that he could lick Peter’s belly button, and over the next half hour or so, Vic kept exploring erogenous zones that Peter didn’t know he had, from under his arms to behind his knees. What he couldn’t figure out was why Vic was taking so long to get down to his dick.
Foreplay was fun, more fun than he had expected, but he was ready for the main event—had been ready ever since his lips first touched Vic’s. “Aren’t you going to...?” Peter began. “What if somebody comes in on us?”
Vic looked up from licking his way down Peter’s right leg, that devilish grin on his face. “Then we invite him to join us.”
“Oh God,” Peter gasped. He tried to push Vic’s head toward his dick, but Vic resisted.
“Gonna show you the whole deal,” Vic said, with a salacious grin on his face. “Gonna spoil you for any other guy, until you find your Mr. Right.”
“How will I know that?” Peter asked. His body was so overcome with sensation, he couldn’t imagine anything better.
“You’ll know,” Vic said, then gobbled up Peter’s dick in one long swallow, and Peter arched his back and moaned with pleasure.
Vic sucked him for a minute or two, until Peter couldn’t hold back anymore. “I’m gonna...” he managed to say, before he shot off down Vic’s throat.
Vic swallowed it all, then looked up with a grin. “Reindeer come,” he said. “Best in the world.”
Then he shifted around and presented his own dick to Peter’s mouth. Peter started experimentally licking the shaft and the mushroom head, then opened his mouth and tried to take in as much as he could.
“Watch the teeth, buddy,” Vic said. Peter sucked for another minute or two, then Vic pulled back. He pushed Peter’s legs above his head, exposing his hairy asshole, and Vic leaned down to tongue him. “Yummy. Love me some fur,” he said.
Then he backed off, pulled a condom from the stand by his bed, and suited himself up. He squirted some lube in his hand and oiled his dick. “Roll over on your side, and lift up your leg.”
Peter followed instructions and felt the snub nose of Vic’s dick against his hole. “Take deep breaths,” Vic said. “Gonna hurt like a bastard for a minute or two, but then it’s all good.”
“Oww,” Peter howled. “Oh my God, take it out.”
“Just breathe,” Vic said. “I’ll take it nice and slow.”
It had to feel good, Peter thought. He’d seen too many videos of guys getting fucked up the ass. Unless he was some weird case? Was he too tight? Was Vic too big? He got so lost in his own thoughts and fears that he forgot to feel the pain, and suddenly it wasn’t there anymore.
Yeah, he still knew his ass was plugged up—but there were these hot, spicy feelings floating through his bloodstream that made him feel like he was soaring.
“Oh, yeah, take my dick,” Vic said. “Your ass is tight, but I’m gonna open you up.”
It all ended too quickly for Peter, and sure didn’t spoil him for anyone else. Vic bucked against his ass and shot his load, then pulled out. They heard a clatter outside, and Vic bounded up, then grabbed Peter’s hand. “Let’s get to the showers stat.”
By the time they came out of the shower, glistening clean with towels around their waists, a group of guys had returned from a practice run, and Peter and Vic dressed and joined them in the lounge, and nobody said anything, even though Peter felt like his whole world had turned on its axis.
