It's a place to stay. It's not a bad place to stay, probably. It's fine. 

He puts on his prettiest smile.  

Mr. Claus shoves him up against the wall and kisses him roughly. 

(He has also heard of inventions like consent. Fortunately, he is too magic to have to worry about them.)

Ugh. 

Sometimes that happens. He's mostly very passive about it. 

He slaps the boy across the face.

Yeah, sometimes that happens too. 

He flinches and does his best to stop paying attention to this. 

Well, if he's not paying attention, that's not very fun.

"Get your clothes off," Mr. Claus says, and considers how he can return Sasha's attention to the task at hand.

Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh. Yep he can do that. 

He looks around the kitchen of his AirBnB and spots a knife. Yes, that will do nicely. 

But first he forces Sasha onto his knees, undoes his pants, and has Sasha get him ready. 

Grindr hookups are a shot in the dark at the best of times but usually there is less shoving involved. Fuuuuck thiiiiiiiiis. 

And then Mr. Claus grabs the butcher knife off the counter, pulls Sasha to his feet, and holds the knife to his throat. 

Sasha flinches away reaches back for anything he can reach away away away — 

That's the reaction he was looking for!

Let's see how well he can fuck Sasha while Sasha is reaching back for things.

— not very well because Sasha has found a rolling pin. 

In principle, while Mr. Claus is magic, he is also old and not terribly athletic and distracted by his own arousal, and he's used to sleeping with elves who don't object to anything he does to them. 

So he is too busy trying to line up his dick with Sasha's vagina to notice when Sasha clonks him in the back of the head.

It makes a cracking sound that would be horrifying in any other context, and then Sasha is left there with his hands shaking naked in a kitchen and an unconscious man on the floor. 

He finds his clothes and puts them back on and leaves, and looks for a bus stop that'll be relatively sheltered no matter how tempting it is to open grindr again. 

Santa's chest heaves, and then it is still.

A movie producer, struck by a sudden wave of inspiration, calls a director and orders a reshoot so that their new Christmas movie ends not with a reconciliation but with the protagonist telling their asshole family to fuck off and celebrating surrounded by their friends.

An advertising executive sketches out his new vision of Santa. Young. Sexy. Maybe pale and dark-haired, to make him really look different from the previous Santas.

A dozen pundits come to the conclusion that, since Christmas is a Christian holiday, really the best way to win the war on Christmas is by not forcing it on unsuspecting Jews who don't accept Christ as their savior at all.

Way up at the North Pole, a house redecorates itself. 

And an elf decides that rather than teleporting to the new Santa, he is going to teleport the new Santa to him. 

He waits for Santa's house to finish settling, sits in the newly soft couch in the newly purple living room, eyes the poetry on the shelves, and snaps his fingers.

"What the fuck!!" 

"--I figured you probably didn't want to sleep on a bus stop?"

That does not remotely address his objections! 

"You weren't wrong but —" 

"You murdered Santa Claus and now you're Santa."

There are at least three things fighting to come out of his mouth, including that was self defense, santa isn't real, and why the fuck am I HERE. 

The thing that actually makes it out is "No." 

"--I mean, I totally support murdering Santa. He was a horrible person."

This time the thing that wins is "...no, Santa isn't real."