Chapter 3: Diesel and Dust

"Wow...Sydney is a lot more...orange than I thought it would be."

The sea of red soil extended well onto the horizon, interrupted only by islands of spinifex grass and the occasional parched tree. There were no clouds in the sky to shield Spike and Daemian from the outback sun.

And yet, it was quite possibly the most beautiful place Spike had ever seen--and he'd been across the equator more than once. It was hot as hell (he had only just stepped out of the turbulent darkness of Daemian's shadow corridor, and already felt a sunburn starting to form). Yet, there was a peace here--and lurking beneath that tranquillity, an intense power. Since studying glyphs, Spike had learned a lot about magick, its vibrations, its harmonies, how it flowed through the body. This place had a very old magick indeed.

Daemian sighed and removed his sunnies, scratching his head. "Fuck me sideways; we teleported to the wrong bloody spotm Spikey."

Spike snapped out of his trance. "Are you serious?" He said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"About which thing I just said." Daemain looked around in either direction, but there was little point. It looked the same no matter where he turned. "Well, good on ya, Spike, at least you didn't blow chunks all over sacred land. You're a lot tougher than Tiger."

Spike looked out into the dust. "Oh...is this like...the outback?"

Placing his hand over his head, Daemian turned away. "What give it away, champ?"

"I guess...the deserty-ness of it all. I...uh...expected more kangaroos."

"They'll be hiding in the shade." Daemian nodded to the puddle of dark energy accumulating in his shadow. Brax (also wearing sunglasses, and a Sydney Swans jersey) handed Daemian two water bottles and a tub of sunscreen. Daemian took it and tossed it at his unwitting partner. 

"Speaking of which, you should put this on. Come on. Slip, slap, slop, Spike."

Spike glared at his new buddy, but otherwise did as he told. Truthfully, he hated the greasy sensation of sunscreen. "Why do I have to put this one? You're the one who's got the skin of a vampire."

"I'm regrettably human, Spike, and you're cruel to remind me. Pale as I am, my glyph gives me regenerative abilities, so my cells won't be affected by a bit of UV. You, however..."

"Okay, I haven't tanned in awhile, gee." Spike was glad for it though, even if it did make his skin feel oily. "What about you, Brax?"

"I am from Gehenna--we have far more harsh environments than your mere outback. My kind have no need for a meager SPF."

Spike nodded. "Then why the shirt?"

"I am a fan of sporting games. I wanted to show my support." The giant, bestial demon looked towards his mortal kindred. "You teleported us to the wrong part of Australia."

"I'm plenty aware, mate."

"But you can just teleport us on to Sydney, right?" Spike said cheerfully. 

Silence followed. Daemian looked away.

"...Right?"

"It's not the simple. Channelling a dark corridor takes a lot of magick, and we just jettisoned ourselves from the other hemisphere. I'm gonna need a recharge of like...a few hours."

"...Oh."

Daemian bit his lip. "I'm usually good at zeroing in on high population areas, but I guess there's too many cities here that I got confused."

Brax growled. "This country is 88% desert."

"Okay, well..." Daemian groaned. "Alright. Smoko." Kickin dirt with his steel toed boots, Daemian removed a cigarette and lit up. "Fuck me gently with a rusty spoon...this sucks."

"What's wrong?" Spike asked. Then, he smirked. "You missin' Joseph? Your miss your boyfriend."

Daemian whipped his head towards his friend and held up his fist. "I'll gut you like a trout and leave you to dingos."

"Yeah, yeah, zombie boy. Funny. I seem to remember a time when I was your boyfriend."

"It was just a bit, Spike!" Daemian turned away. He put his cigarette out on his own hand and didn't even flinch. He shoved the spent butt into his pocket. 

At least he respects the environment, Spike thought.

"You telling me you liked it?"

Blessed with fleeting insight, Spike lowered his stare. "I'm a love-starved orphan who sleeps with every hot man he comes across. You basically told me I was yours. So...you tell me, ya big putz."

"I hate that you've gotten smarter," Daemian sniffed. "Self aware Spike isn't fun like himbo Spike."

"I AM BOTH!" Spike roared. "And sorry for being a bit salty, but I'm not the one who stranded us in the middle of THE FUCKIN' OUTBACK." He breathed.

Brax, who did not like conflict, flattened his ears against his head. "Grrr...."

Unfortunately, Spike had no choice but to rely on the demoniac mage. "So..."

"Got it out of your system, did ya?" 

"Yes. But what do we do?"

Daemian pointed in a vague direction. "Start walkin'."

So, they did. Fortunately, Daemian was able to conjure shade to keep them somewhat cooled off.

Even so, as Brax helpfully pointed out, "You humans can lose a liter of moisture every thirty to sixty minutes out here."

Spike looked at the water bottle he just chugged. "Heh. Don't suppose you brought more of these?"

"Nope," Daemian said, casually. He looked around the flat expanse. "I reckon...we're somewhere between Alice Springs and Uluru." 

Spike couldn't visualize either, but sensed neither were close at hand. "In other words...middle of nowhere?"

"...Yes."

Well, nothing else to do now but walk and enjoy each other's company...as well as not to die of heat stroke under the harsh, desert sun. Three muscular figures, scrawny, gigantic, and short, traipsed through the heat shimmer.

Brax was the first one to breach the topic. "My mortal kindred...what went wrong?"

If Spike had pitched the question, he would have only gotten snark back. He sensed Brax had taken up speaking on his behalf.

Daemian eyed his companions warily, but otherwise relented. "I guess...I've just been thinking of home, lately, yeah?"

Spike screwed up his face. "You grew up here?" But before he could follow up, he noticed Brax had frozen still. "What's up, boy?"

The demon sniffed the air. "Someone is coming. There." He pointed a claw to a cloud of billowing dust coming towards them from the horizon.

Spike squinted, but it was no use. "What's that? A car."

Daemian shielded the sun from his eyes. "Yeah. Looks like a ute."

"...What the hell's a yoot?"

The utility vehicle pulled up alongside the three strangers and rolled down its window. A friendly faced, dark skinned man with a gray beard and wide-brimmed hat waved to them. "As I live and breathe. Lachlan Jago."

Daemian nervously glanced between and Brax and Spike. "Uncle...Daniel?"

"He's your uncle?" Spike asked, excited.

"We call him that. I'll explain later."

The man's smile was enough to tell Spike that they were out of the woods now (or the desert, rather). "Sight for sore eyes, yous." He threw the passenger door open. "Hop on in or crawl into the back. Just taking some supplies to the station."

Spike thought Daemian looked somehow even paler than normal. The dark magi caught his companion looking at him. "You can sit next to Uncle Daniel. Brax and I will take the bed." The demon lifted up his tag partner and placed him inside the back of the truck, before joining him (and causing the vehicle to creak).

Spike was always down to make friends--and was happy to be out of the swelter, besides. "Hi, I'm Spike."

"Welcome to Arrernte country, Spikey." Uncle Daniel began driving. Thankfully, the car had air conditioning. "You're a long way from home. That an American accent, is it?"

"Yeah. Brooklyn."

"Ah, New York!" Uncle Daniel's eyes lit up. "Always wanted to see New York. During the winter. Snowfall in Central Park."

Now proficient in picking up on the subtle energies of emotions, Spike felt drawn to Uncle Daniel's warmth. "It's amazing." It was only just that, however. Spike detected magick from him--and not a garden variety glyph either. In his time with the GSA, Spike had picked up the patterns and similarities in the signatures given off by each glyph...their 'flavors', if you will. Some, of course, were rare than others. Uncle Daniel's was new.

But Spike knew better than to pry.

"So, this one kidnap you or something?" Uncle Daniel said, avoiding a kangaroo carcass in the middle of the road. "You seem like a good bloke. What are you doing mixing with the devils, Spikey?"

Spike looked over his shoulder, through the back window. Daemian and Brax were on opposite sides of the flat bad; Daemian with his arms folded. "I'm more trouble than I look," Spike said absently. "Gee, I hope Daemian is okay."

"Oh, Lachie loves a sook, don't you worry about him Let me guess, he made a dog's breakfast of his dark corridors again and you ended up out here in the back of the beyond--yeah?"

"Yep."

"He's been trouble since he was a pup. But you can't fault the lad for it. His mom was no good. His dad, absent. We did what we could." Uncle Daniel shrugged. "I think he turned out right, don't you?"

Eventually, the ute pulled up to a compound that reminded Spike of the GSA--a humble ranch fenced in. Spike noted a few houses scattered on the compound. A group of women sat on a retaining wall, casually talking and tending to their babies. Spike noted flocks of sheep in the distance, as well as a pen full of giant, strange birds that made uneasy to look at.

"Those...are some big chickens." Spike gulped. I wouldn't want to wrestle them.

"Emus!" Uncle Daniel laughed. He parked the car outside a farmhouse. "Come on, yous." He noted the sign above the wooden archway. Brumby Station.

Spike hopped out of the truck, same time as Daemian and Brax. Spike's reluctant companion refused to make eye contact with him. Spike was fine to ignore him for now--caught up in the grandeur of the outback and the quaint little station. "It's...beautiful." 

"It's home," Uncle Daniel said, pointing a thumb towards the screen door of the farmhouse. "Spike, come on in and meet the misses." 

Daemain bristled. "Auntie Jacinda is here, yeah? If you think I'm scary..."

A strong, commanding voice came from the house. "That Lachie?"

Daemian flinched. "Yeah, it's me, Auntie."

A squat, curly haired woman with a serious face opened the door. Her complexion and affect was similar to Uncle Daniel's. "No card. No phone call." She frowned, and pointed to Spike. "And you've brought a bloody male model to the outback. You never change, you little shit." She cracked a smile. "Come and give your Auntie a hug before I slap the stupid out of you."

Daemian's self-pitying aura shattered. Spike had never seen his eyes light up like that before (well, in any other way than 'menacing'). "It's good to see you," he said, giving the woman a hug.

"And you too, big man!"

The giant demon's ears flattened against his head, and Spike thought he saw Brax's color change. "Auntie..." the demon said, bending down to embrace the small woman. It was more adorable than comical, Spike thought.

"I'll put the kettle on," the woman said, nodding to Spike. She turned to Daemian and gave him the look of death. "Make sure you take your shoes off. Oh, and let your blonde friend know the dunny's been out of sorts since...the snake incident."

Spike blinked. "The...snake incident?"

"At least it's not the spider incident," Daemian mumbled, slinking off indoors.

Spike tried very hard not to imagine the implications, and thankfully was distracted by the sudden squeal and laughter of a group of children--at least six or seven--gathering around the enormous demon.

"BRAX!" they said.

Spike bit his lip. He had never seen Brax deal with kids before. How were they not terrified.

Spike got his answer. "Hello, tiny human spawn"

"Can we ride on your shoulders?"

Brax nodded. "You may."

And soon, the enormous demon was dripping with children. He carried them off to wherever the bossy little girl on his shoulders commanded.

The interior of the Brumby's home was warm and welcoming, reminding Spike yet again of the Tamberly homestead (especially the gingham tablecloth). The New Yorker (far from home) eyed a series of beautiful canvases hanging on the walls, in an art style he had never seen before--instead of sweeping brush strokes, the painter had created the images with hundreds of individual dots and points of paint. 

Auntie Jacinda went about making tea. "How do you take your tea, Spike?"

"Uh....hot?"

The woman pursed her lips and gave Daemian a bemused glance. "Yanks. Don't tell me they microwave their water too?"

Daemian grimaced. "I'm the prince of darkness, and not even I would do something as wretched."

"Prince of Darkness!" Aunti laughed. "Not in my house you ain't. Anyways, I can't play hostess. I've got a patient, Mrs. Gregory, in the back. I'm treating her, so mind your manners, devil child."

"Mrs. Gregory from the general store?" Daemian looked over at the attractive cake on the counter, dusted with coconut. "I thought I smelled one of her lamingtons?"

"What's a lamington?" Spike asked.

"You can have a slice with the tea wen you're done," Jacinda said, ducking through an archway. "But NOT til we're done--understood, young sir?"

"Yes, Auntie."

A raspy voice came from around the corner. "That Lachlan?"

"He dropped in for a surprise," Auntie Jacinda said to the woman, just out of Spike's view. "Here. Take my arm."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Not dead yet, Auntie." A chubby, bald woman with bright eyes and red cheeks shuffled slowly through the doorway, refusing Auntie's hand. Her face was sun-worn, but her smile was beautiful, Spike thought.

"Hello Lachlan," Mrs. Gregory said to the tall man. She took the kitchen chair. "You've gotten taller somehow."

Daemian shrugged. "Nice to see you."

"Don't look so shy. You know I've forgiven you from stealing those caramel koalas from the store." 

Spike smirked. "I've never seen you so roasted before. I love it."

"Wait til we get back," Daemian shot. "You have a snapmare in the future, Spikey!"

"No rough housing in this house!" Auntie warned him.

Despite Daemian's guilt, the middle aged woman seemed keen on catching up with him. "The cancer came back," she said casually. "Bloody useless doctors out here. Your Auntie was of a mind to do something about it with her glyph."

Spike looked to the (somewhat put upon) woman at the kitchen counter. "You're a healer, Auntie?"

The woman shrugged. "It's just an experiment. I used to work for the Royal Flying Doctors as a cultural interpreter. I picked up a thing or two."

"Life glyph?" Spike asked.

"No." She nodded to a coat rack in the corner of the room. "Lachie, you and Spike will want to put on one of the lead aprons the next half hour or so."

Spike was confused, but he did as told. "Like when I get my X-rays taken at the dentist," he said, draping the heavy apron.

"That why you have such handsome teeth?" Auntie Jacinda said. "No, love, my gift is radiation."

Spike had only come across someone with that glyph before--the sinister, post-apocalyptic brute, Fallout, who White Tiger had trounced back in Vegas. "Atomos!" he said, pleased with himself that he remembered. "I read about that. But isn't that a rare glyph."

"There's a lot of old power in this land, Spike. More than just little old me." Sighing, and somewhat wistful, Auntie looked to Mrs. Gregory. "We should give you some privacy, dear. Want to come to the office?"

The fair skinned, middle aged woman shook her head. "No, not on my account. Besides, you said you had good news for me. If you can say it to me, you can say it front of them. I waive my consent."

Spike could tell Auntie Jacinda, despite her direct way of speaking, was still a professional--and uncomfortable with the request. "Yes. Well.." She handed Mrs. Gregory what looked to Spike like an x-ray or ultrasound sheet. "Looks like the tumor has reduced by more than 75%"

Mrs. Gregory wasn't an emotional woman, Spike could tell. Still, her mouth twitched at the news, and her eyes welled up. "Oh Goddess be good," she said, dabbing a corner of her eye with a kerchief. "Best news I've heard all bloody week."

Auntie was relieved. "So, in other words, treatment is going well. We'll want to proscribe you some folate to balance it out, and monitor any other cellular changes, but I think our little experiment appears to be working. Let's dose you for the day and we'll have you come back in a week."

The woman did this out of view of the men, but Daemian explained to Spike how Auntie was so proficient at her magick that she could localize her radiation. "Most folks with that glyph are kept in bubbles or shunned from society," Daemian mumbled. "It's powerful stuff. Auntie's so damn good at controlling it though that she can control the dosage. Some big wigs in Sydney want her to come have her experiment at a clinic but...Auntie doesn't care for the city."

Spike was wowed. He also suddenly remembered the car ride with Uncle Daniel, and now he was starting to wonder whether the man had magick himself. "Does Uncle Daniel have the same glyph too?"

The color suddenly drained from Daemian's face. "Why would you ask that?"

Sensing he'd put his foot in it already, Spike tried to downplay. "I've started getting better at detecting people's magick."

Before Daemian could answer him (or not). The women emerged. Auntie announced, with great joy, that it was at last time for tea and lamington.

After the ritual of dispensing tea and slices of cake was through, Spike took Daemian's cue to dig in. He took a spoonful of cake into his mouth. It was like a decadent orgy of jam, chocolate, sponge cake, and coconut. 

"Lamington is my jamington," Spike said with glee.

Daemian glared at him. "I will hurt you."

Mrs. Gregory and Auntie Jacinda were eager to ask Spike all about New York and spellbreaking and baseball (Mrs. Gregory seemed to have a fascination with Babe Ruth). Spike was happy to indulge them, mostly because he liked attention, and also to take the heat off Daemian. After a pleasant discussion over tea and cake, Auntie Jacinda ushered Mrs. Gregory out the door, sending her off with a driver named Jack.

Uncle Daniel took her place at the table, but instead of engaging Spike, he struck up conversation with his adopted son. "So, still getting beaten up in your underwear, eh?"

"Doing the beating up, Uncle." 

"And are you still seeing that Tiger fella?"

Washing dishes at the kitchen sink, Auntie Jacinda smirked knowingly. "Great set of abs, that one." She placed a cup next to a series of pretty, clay-shaped drinking glasses on the shelf. Spike thought they reminded him of the stones and colors of the outback.

Unlce Daniel pouted. "And when are you going to blush like that around me?"

"When you get a set of abs like that."

Daemian was not at all ready to broach the subject. He looked over at Spike. "While we're here, I wanted to bring something up to you."

Spike took the hint (for once). "You'd rather talk about the Chalices than your love life?"

"That's how much I want to talk about my love life, yes." He addressed the couple. "See, the guys and I...we're kind of involved with--"

"Those Aradia drongos?" Auntie Jacinda asked with a sour expression.

Both Spike and Daemian were taken aback. "Nah...yeah?"

"They came calling here around a month or so ago asking about the Chalice of Vitality and the wellsprings." 

Uncle Daniel took the baton. "Those matters were entrusted to our people ages ago. These are sacred things woven into our stories."

Daemian shot Spike another dark look. Don't ask. "So then...I take it you won't be telling us?"

Uncle Daniel was sympathetic, if not cagey. "Your intentions are pure, Lachlan....for once. But the other elders and I have spoken about this, and we think it's best these things are kept safe with us. Way we see it...if you don't know about it, the bad team don't know about it either, yeah?" 

While Spike could see the logic in that, he knew how John Henry, Lily, and Salim would probably feel on the subject. 

"I'll let you know this much," Uncle Daniel continued. "The Chalice is not in Sydney. Whatever information you have? False. And it should stay that way."

This seemed abruptly satisfying for Daemian. He shrugged. "Well, if Firebird can't get its hands on it. Spike and I have a match in Sydney anyway. We can plant some rumors. Distract Firebird while the boys get their hands on the other Chalices. My..." he choked on the word, "boyfriend, Joseph, is currently in Japan sorting out the Wellspring of Wisdom."

Spike counted on his fingers. "Will...Compassion...Voice...Wisdom...and Vitality is kept safe somewhere here in Australia. Firebird has the Chalice of Power, so that leaves Spirit?"

"Sounds right to me," Daemian said. "Uncle. Auntie. Do you reckon what Firebird wants with these bloody things?"

Auntie Jacinda thought about it for a good while. "Magick predates colonisation, but it was still foreign to the land. We have stories and songs about it, but these are considered separate matters to our faith. The Chalice and the wellspring are the bridge between those two circles, and it's not something we readily talk about with outsiders. I cannot say what Firebird hopes to achieve with the other ones, but I can tell you...they sure as hell won't be laying a finger on ours." 

Spike believed it.

"You need to be careful now," Auntie said, placing a hand on Daemian's shoulder. "World's gone funny. Danger everywhere. We can't keep you safe anymore, Lachlan."

"I can keep myself safe, Auntie." He considered brushing her hand away, on instinct, but decided against it. "But thanks. Well, I think I'm recharged. I'll fetch Brax and we can open up a corridor." He looked at Spike. "I'll try not to get us stranded in Darwin next, or worse...Hobart." He shivered.

"Wait a minute," Uncle Daniel said getting up. "I can make this easier on you two. No use messing with those weird tunnels."

Auntie Jacinda looked gravely concerned. "Daniel Brumby, don't you dare." She looked at Spike. 

The man rolled up his sleeves. "Please. It's nothing." He nodded to Spike and Daemian. "Stand back."

Confused, Spike did as he was told, and watched Uncle Daniel place his hand in front of the space between the table and the kitchen wall. A crackling, like static electricity, cut through the air--and the next thing Spike saw, there was a doorway sized square of completely different scenery hanging in the air.

Spike's jaw dropped. He stepped warily towards the 'window', which was unlike Daemian's cold, chaotic, dark tunnel. From behind, it was just the kitchen. Head on--Spike looked onto an overcast harbor with a tremendous, iron bridge.

"Sydney," Daemian sputtered. "But...your magick."

What glyph is this? Spike wondered.

Uncle Daniel winked at Spike. "Go collect your demon. Then, you better get going. I'll close it up behind you, before anybody notices. And Lachlan?"

"Yeah?"

"You've grown up. A lot."

To Be Continued

Chapter 1: Yin and Yang - Part 1

"The dead...don't...lose."

Panting and perspiring on the sweat-covered canvas, Deadboy Daemian looked up into the eyes of his conqueror. The light ringing turned him into a silhoutte of burning, white fury. Eyes flashing like diamonds, and a cunning sneer cutting across his handsome, White Tiger held up the red rope.

"You lost. You know what happens now..."

Somewhere in Sydney, in the loft of a repurposed theme park attraction, Deadboy Daemian (real name Lachlan Jago) snapped back into the waking world. Eyes opened onto a crack of light coming through the iron bars of his gothic, arched window. Groggy, groaning, and hung over, Daemian turned over onto his 'living pillow', the chest of a massive demon.

Brax always woke up the same time as he did. One of the quirks of a 'soul pact', Daemian had come to understand. His obsidian black eyes stared back at him, softly.

Daemian winced. "Brax. You ever have a nightmare that's more like a dream?"

The massive monster searched his eyes for a moment, before he tossed off the blankets and left the lopsided, sunken bed. "Demons do not dream."

Floorboards creaked. Somewhere outside, the whir of a roller coaster and the screams of excited patrons cut through the quiet. 

"Er...right. Well, never mind, yeah? Ugh. What time is it?" Perennially pale, Daemian clutched his sore, throbbing head. "I feel like death warmed over. And not in the good way."

Deadboy has neglected to join the rest of the GSA in their Yuletide festivities, choosing instead a drunken, Aussie summertime Yule, full of beer and bad behavior. He could barely recall a fugue of alcohol and flirty boys, and hitting the goon sack one too many times...clearly.

The living Deadboy scratched at his black briefs and wandered over to the kitchen nook, a cross between a witch's laboratory and the unwashed counter space of a hoarder. Cracking his back, rippling with muscle, Deadboy stretched--looking not unlike a vampire turned underwear model turned prize fighter. Daemian slathered Vegemite on a piece of burnt toast, then cracked two eggs into the frying pan, tossing the shells to Brax, who greedily snapped them up.

Toast in hand, and chewing with his mouth open, Daemian pried his fingers beneath the blinds and peered out into the theme park below. It was a bright, blue day in the capital of dark magick. Boxing Day. Families were frolicking in Horror Land, which had been turned into a dark, Yuletide fairytale (a terrible marketing decision, Daemian thought). Everyone looked happy, even the ghoulish theme park employees.

"Wow," Daemian sniffed. "Get a look at that, yeah? Sun's shining. The temperature is nice. Not a cloud in the sky." He growled. "How disgusting."

Annoyed with...well...everything, Daemian looked down into the courtyard near the closed off fence. Due to an arrangement between Southern Cross Spellbreaking (sXs) and the theme park, Deadboy has been given his own cut of real-estate in the closed off Gravesend Manor, a defunct haunted house attraction. Nobody really bothered him. Or got too close to the property. Just how he liked it.

That is, except for this curious little girl in overalls, carrying a balloon with a jack-o-lantern face.

 "Hmmm." Daemian's smile grew long and wicked. He pointed to the girl's shadow. A long, spiked tendril appeared from the two dimensional space, and shot out at her balloon, popping it and startling her. She burst into tears.

Music to my ears, Daemian thought. "That's much better."

Suddenly, the crying stopped. Daemian's ears perked up at a familiar, strong, and gentlemanly voice.

"Don't worry, little girl! I'll buy you two new ones."

This must still be a nightmare. It can't be....

But it was! Standing there in a tight fitting onesie (what the Yanks called a tank-top) with his arms bursting out of the fabric, White Tiger guided the little girl back to her concerned parents. 

Of course, the bloody idiot was wearing his own merchandise!

Wisps of dark energy sprouted from Daemian's head as he snapped the window shut. "Not...HIM."

The nerve! The cheek! Daemian knew White Tiger could only be here for one reason. Colt had sent every worker who had a remotely good relationship with Daemian after him (and there weren't many). Iggy had tried to sweet talk him. Then Spike. Even Buck almost convinced him (he could be strangely persuasive). Deadboy refused to play nice with those losers. They had humiliated him and kicked him to the curb. Why should he go back and help them?

And now they had sent in the big guns. And Joseph's guns were quite big...and delicious.

"Naur!" Deadboy screamed out loud, clutching his head. "I won't let him get to me this time. Brax!"

The demon, sitting in the overstuffed, red velvet arm chair, looked up from his copy of Australian Women's Weekly Cooking Magazing. "Yes, my mortal kindrid?" he said calmly. 

"We gotta' get the bloody hell out of here, mate! We need to get somewhere safer. Like..." Deadboy considered his options. "Hell."

Brax growled, non-plussed. "But the new episode of Housemates is on and we're going to find out of Bruce knows he's been sleeping with Jenny's evil twin."

"We can record it. We gotta--"

A knock at the door cut Daemian off.

The dark magi put his finger to his lips. Brax didn't seem to notice.

The muffled, enthusiastic voice of Joseph Haw seeped through the skull-shaped front door. "Hello, Lachlan? I can hear you in there!"

Daemian winced. He turned to Brax. "Okay, I'll just open a portal and-"

"By the way, I've placed a spell on your haunted house that prevents you from creating dark corridors. I hope you don't mind."

This was quite enough! Enraged, eyes glowing red and an aura of pure evil smoking off his body, Deadboy Daemian stomped over to the door. Shadows scattered fearfully, like cockroaches, in his path. "Oh, I do bloody mind!"

He swung open the door. Joseph stood there, heroically, smiling. "G'day, as you say in these parts."

Ugh, he was so handsome--Deadoy wanted to puke. "Well, you got some BLOODY nerve, showing up on my doorstep with your cute haircut, looking adorable--I mean, HIDEOUS."

"Thanks?"

"NOT HAPPY, JOSEPH!" Deadboy went to slam the door in his face, but White Tiger's reflexes were a hell of a lot quicker. "Well, what do you want. More gear of mine? Or...maybe you want to tie me up again?" Deadboy bit his lip. "And...hear me submit? Again. And again? You know, because I WOULD HATE THAT!"

What scared Daemian the most was that he was afraid he wouldn't hate it at all, actually.

"That sounds fun, but no time. I came here on a matter of business. John Henry needs you for an assignment."

"TELL HIM HE'S DREAMIN'!"

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that, Lachlan--er--Daemian. Much to my chagrin, I think we really do need your help getting this next Chalice..."

"OHHHHH REALLLLY? Wow, that sure is interesting, mate. Remember when I got the last Chalice and you all yelled at me?"

"Remember when you tried to turn us all into zombies?" Joseph blinked. "Twice?"

"Grrr...and I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for that meddling, himbo luchador!" Daemian crossed his arms and pouted like a punished child.

Swallowing, Joseph looked behind his formal rival and ex lover. "Oh, hiya Brax."

The demon nodded plitely. "Joseph."

"Hey, mate, don't look at me demon! And anyways, getting you a Chalice don't do me no favors now, does it?"

Joseph rolled his eyes. "Only you could wear out my patience like this. Look, oh shadowy one, Spike says he misses you." He quickly added: "I don't."

But Daemian had already zeroed in on Joseph's insecurity. "I think you do," he said, smiling with ill intent. Then, he remembered Spike's cheerful face and suddenly felt sick with sweetness. "Ugh, the damn twink's been askin' about me?."

"Were you...really his boyfriend?"

"What?" Daemian suddenly felt naked, and in front of Joseph, it wouldn't be the first time. "Ha! No way. I just said that to--"

"To what?" Joseph narrowed his eys. "Get...back at me?"

He was always so frustratingly in-the-know. Daemain laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. Suddenly hurling himself through the window looked a lot more appealing than continuing this conversation.

"Well, gee, I dunno...that would be dumb!"

"That...would be you, Deadboy."

"Well, I don't work for the GSA no more, anyway!" Deadboy sighed and nodded for Joseph to come in. He grabbed a cold can of beer from the fridge and craked it open. "Back to sXs. Good ol' Aussie spellbreaking. I gotta' match with Swooper comin' up ya know. Hey, you want a coldie?"

Ugh, I can't believe I'm doing...hospitality with the enemy. 

"No thank you." Joseph tried very hard not to turn his nose up at the odd...smell of the place. "Huh. The dude with the Magpie head? Well, that's...awesome, actually. I'm glad you're happy."

Daemian chugged back his beer (it was 11 AM) and then belched loudly. "I doubt it."

Joseph looked around the dark, dingy room briefly, before he decided he was better off standing. He forced himself to assume an open posture, even though every cell comprising his being told him he was here strictly for business. "Look, Lachy."

"DAEMIAN!" Deadboy snapped, crushing the beer can against his head and flattening it. "You don't GET to call me Lachy no more."

Goddess, he's cute when he's feisty, Joseph thought. "Ok, Deadboy. I know we've had our ups and downs. But when I defeated you--and you really did put up a great fight (kind of)--taking your gear is just...well...it's my thing."

Daemain smirked. He had him now. "You mean...your kink?"

"I mean..." Joseph blushed and looked away.

"Hahaha! You're terrrrible, Joseph. That's the problem with you babyfaces!" Daemian marched forward and circled his red-faced rival, playfully. "You can't even give in to your base desires without coming up with some bloody justification. I think you want to know what it's like to be bad, don't you?"

Joseph shrugged, brushing him away and putting distance between them. He travelled to the window and opened it...in sore need of fresher air. "Darkness and light exist within all of us."

"Oh, save it, fortune cookie."

"Was...that a racist joke?"

"WHAT!?" Daemian balked. "I may be demonic, but never racist, and certainly not towards you..."

From across the room, the two men stared at each other. No sound save the turning of the magazine page from Brax, and a half-muttered, "Oh, look at that pavlova..."

Joseph rolled his eyes. "So who admits it first?" He motioned for Daemian to come closer.

And much to his own irritation, Daemian did just that. His arms remained folded; fastened to his large chest. "Who admits WHAT first?" He looked into Joseph's eyes, reminded of their stare down before the fateful match when White Tiger dethroned Deadboy as GSA champion and kicked off this whole stupid mess.

Joseph sighed. "Oh for fucks sake."

Daemian flinched. "You...just swore--"

But that's all he got out before he found Joseph's mouth against his. Those soft kisses. Gentle. Addicting.

Deadboy's eyes went into the back of his head. This was better than any drug. And probably worse. He snapped to his senses and pushed away before he could let his tongue wander where it shouldn't.

"Ugh! Here? In front of my demon?"

Brax grunted. "Don't mind me."

"Damn it!" Daemian growled. He launched himself towards Joseph and kissed him in his own way, clumsy and rough, digging his fingers into his rippling back. "You got bigger, you arsehole."

Joseph pulled away, shaking his head. "No, this is..." He was embaressed. What a rare thing it was to see the champion of the GSA blush. "No, look, I can leave. I shouldn't have..."

Daemian smirked. "See? Isn't it more fun to give into your dark desires?" Biting his lip, Daemian tugged at the bulge in his underwear. "And we all know I'm your darkest."

Joseph pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Ugh, you...yes. Look. Maybe. Let's not go so fast. Besides, we know you're going to just distract me with sex to get our of a tough conversation."

Brax chuckled to himself. "Mortal kindred...the Tiger has, as you humans say, your number." 

"Enough of the peanut gallery," Daemian shouted. This was worse than losing to Joseph the first tine. Daemian grit his teeth, and forced his darkness down. "I am..."

"Yes?" 

"I am...willing to...ugh I'm gonna be sick."

"Go on...you can do it."

"OKAY! Ugh. I am willing to talk things through and maybe..."

"Yeah?"

"Stop doing that!" Despite himself, Daemian laughed. "Ugh, I love how much you piss me off."

"The feeling is mutual." He knew his former rival, lover, whatever this weird, sexy man was, had gone as far as he could go. "Okay. Daemian. Lachlan. Man with many names. I admit that...perhaps I let our spellbreaking rivalry get in the way of..." He tripped over his words.

Daemian cocked his head. "YEAH?"

"What...could have been." Joseph looked away, and then, blushing resumed eye contact. "Or...what...could be?"

This was more satisfying than kicking his ass, Deadboy though. He looked at Joseph, smugly. "I been on your mind, eh?"

"You...do have a tendency to...linger."

"Linger?" Daemian made a face. "Gross. Farts linger, Joseph."

"Well, you do smell bad sometimes." 

They laughed.

"I mean, when it's that light post-workout B.O....I kinda like it."

"Dirty boy," Daemian laughed. Fuck, am I...smiling? He looked over at Brax. Even though he was pretending not to listen, he could see the subtle, satisfied grin on his demon's face.

Joseph took a deep breath (which was very hard to do inside this garbage heap of an apartment). "Well. Will you help us?"

Daemian's shoulders slunk. This was worse than pulling teeth. Like a frog spalsh from the top rope, he threw himself into the void. "...Maybe I can be convinced. Where would we be going, anyway?"

Joseph forced himself not to look relieved, or otherwise make Daemian think he had the upper hand in this situation (he did). "A place of darkness and very bad feng-shui."

The dark magi's eyes lit up. "Sexy as! Okay. Tell me more."

The wind through the window rattled the shutters, and the shadows inside the grim apartment resumed their normal position. Joseph looked towards the light.

"Okay. What do you know about the Kowloon Walled City?"

To Be Continued

Bonus: Jingle-Brawl Rock!

Frosty breath visible in the cold air, Robbie Whitewolf crossed his giant arms and pouted. "Ugh, this is so gay."

Standing on top of the Tamberly Ranch's water tower (the highest point on the GSA campus) Joseph, wearing a snug, grey cardigan and expensive scarf, gave Robbie a sideways glance. "Robert...I thought you preferred men?"

Robbie the 'Icewolf', in his down jacket and ear muffs (as a Canadian, he was well prepared for winter weather) sniffed. "Yeah, but like, holdin' hands and shit...it's extra gay."

Standing between the two of them like an angry father, Colt (in 'winter cowboy' flannel mode) glared down at his student. "HEY! I ain't gay...mostly...so if I say it's not gay, it's not gay." He grunted and extended his bare hands to them both. "Now, hold my hands, cuties." He relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes. A chill wind answered his silent command. "Besides, only way to do this if we want to combine forces. And you, young alpha wolf, owe us for all the crap we went through with your Eiffel Tower stunt. Now, hold my hand, cutie."

Robbie growled. "Ugh. You freeze Paris ONE TIME and suddenly everyone's on your case." He looked out across the water tower, at all the stalls and decorations being sent up by the spellbreakers and staff of the GSA. Gio had even used his powers to grow them a fairly decent Yuletide tree. Robbie supposed if a champ like him and Joseph were game for all these fruity festivities, then so was he.

"Okay, okay, fine." He closed his eyes and took Colt's hand. "I'm doing it for the team."

Joseph muttered to himself. "So...you'll sleep with men, but holding hands is--"

"Joseph!"

"Also you do figure skating as a hobby, so I don't really understand why--"

"HEY!" Robbie growled, til' he received a quick shock and glare from his head coach. "Okay, sooorry. Here we go. One amazing, ice fantasy...coming up!"

The cold wind picked up, but instead of running right through the trio's bones and chilling them to the core, it went around them, travelling towards the roped off staging area below. Around a series of reinforced scaffolding, streamers of minty blue energy threaded and interlaced around the beams and poles, spreading a diamond-frost pattern across every surface. Colt, Joseph, and Robbie's eyes glowed the respective colors of their powers, as the the geomancers and elemantalists combined their energy and shaped it into structure.

The other spellbreakers took notice. Blue Dragon and Sanjay, threading a banner across the main thoroughfare, craned their heads towards the pillars of ice sprouting from the ground. "Bro," Blue Dragon gasped.

Sanjay, a geomancer himself, was impressed. "Solid cryo-form, gentleman. I'd give it a 9/10."

Though it was fairly modest in size, no larger than Colt's humble farmhouse, the ice castle was the perfect little 'fun house' for which the GSA's Yuletide fair goers could take a romantic adventure. The castle glinted in the winter light, all spires shining majestically under the lightest of residual snowfalls brought on by Colt and Robbie's combined meteorological mystique. 

Robbie's jaw hung open in awe, while Colt and Joseph regarded him with smug amusement. "Woah. Bros...these vibes are...very chill."

Joseph let go of Colt's hand and wrapped his giant arm around Robbie's thick neck. "See what happens when you let go of your insecurities? Look at that, Robbie. You did that." He paused. "Well, it was mostly Colt and I syphoning your ice powers into our own glyphological wavestream, but...you definitely helped."

Looking out at his fine work, Colt clutched the side of the tower safety rail and let out a satisfied, long whistle. "Wooey. What a beaut she is. Gotta say, this might be the best Yuletide fair we've put on yet."

Joseph blinked. "Uh, sir, this would be our first Yuletide fair."

"Be a team player, Joe."

"Got it, boss." 

That said, Joseph turned towards the small soundstage not far from the ice castle. He held his hands to his face and allowed his wind enchantments to carry his voice to its intended target. "Hey, Inaci! You're up, cuz."

Iggy Astro sat on their amp and fine tuned his guitar. At hearing Joseph's command, they tossed back his ice blue hair (dyed fresh for Yuletide) and stood, stretching long arms knotted fine with muscle. "My curtain call. Now, the finishing touch." He pointed at the castle and blew a luminated kiss towards its great peaks.

The castle's icy walls exploded with color, lit from within. Coming out from the farmhouse with a tray of holiday cookies in hand, Varla and Laura marvelled at the beautifully, rainbow lit castle.

"Ooh," Buck said, reaching out to a snickerdoodle. "These look delicious."

Varla swatted his hand away. "They're for the guests, Buck."

"I didn't know you baked, Varla!" Buck had already decided he liked having her around, especially as a counterbalance to his father. He still hadn't quite adjusted to the knowledge that Laura, the girl standing in front of him, was actually his half-sister yet, and he hadn't said much to her yet.

"She doesn't!" Came a loud, masculine voice from the farmhouse. John Henry poked his bald head from out of the window, and showed off his dainty over mits. "But I do! How do do you think I got these muscles, boy? Never trust a skinny chef."

Back at the sound stage, Iggy eyed his lighting work. It had been awhile since he'd done rigging, and even if it was for a silly little thing, he still took great pride in his work. The luminosity, hues, and color cycles needed to be perfect. His magick was strong enough that they could let their unconscious mind run it without much thought.

"Should last a day or so," Iggy mumbled. He heard footsteps behind him. "What do you think, hunky?"

Victor gave them a kiss on the cheek, hugging them close. The masked stud sported a mauve sweater (a bit oversized). "Beautiful. Just like you. Are you off now?"

Iggy put their guitar away. They didn't bother to hide the instrument anywhere, because nobody was foolish enough to touch it without their consent. "Yep," they yawned, trailing off stage. "I need to go break some boys."

Ever supportive of his partner's hobbies, El Amante laughed heartily. "Hahaha! Have fun, mi amor. I need to go make sure my new trainee is settled in."

"Oh yeah," Iggy shrugged. "That...Pink Burrito guy?"

"Pink Bandito!"

"Yeah, yeah. Geez, I thought you were the man who hit on anything with a pulse and an age of consent, but that dude is something else. Anyways, I'll see you later."

Down from the water tower, Colt surveyed his employee's efforts to make the yultide festive (and most definitely gay). Already, some folks from town had begun to trickle into the fairground. "Howdy, folks! Enjoy your stay."

Joseph took great pride and joy in seeing everyone get together. The threat of Firebird was always omnipresent, of course, but for now it simmered beneath the veneer of festive cheer. Today, at least, they could relax.

"It's a rare occasion we open to the school to the public," the champion said, examining stuffed White Tiger souvenirs at the merch table for any flaws. "I hope after such a tumultuous year, the humble folks of outer San Antonio can sincerely enjoy this." His eyes fell on a stuffed mascot lion and bear handing out balloons to young kids. "Wow, what an adorable lion!"

As soon as the children had vacated, the lion and bear turned their enormous stuffed heads towards Joseph. The bear removed his head.

Kengo, sweaty and red faced, breathed. "Gaaaah. It's hot in there!"

Blank faced, Joseph turned to the lion. "So...that one would be."

"Ggrgrgrgrgrg." The lion struggled to pop his head off. When he did, Spike poked his matted, blonde head out. "Man, it's lucky these little runts are around or I'd curse up a storm. I can't believe Colt has us--"

"Has you doing WHAT NOW?"

Colt stepped forward. Spike hadn't seen him. The Sailorboy immediately changed his tune. "Oh...uh...has us bringing holiday cheer to all of these deserving people."

"Hmph. That's more like it. We gotta' show the folks in town that we're a reputable business. Besides, as entertainers first and foremost, bringing joy is our profession." He nodded to Buck, passing by with a cart full of spellbreaker posters he'd printed out. "Ain't that right, son?"

Beneath his black beanie, Buck glared at his dad, shoved one of John Henry's cookies into his mouth, and moved on.

Spike frowned. He thought he should say something to his friend and crush, but it was best to let him sort it out on his own. "Still not talking to each other, Boss?"

Colt crossed his arms. "He'll lighten up. Buck is a broody boy. Takes it from his mother. He loves Yule. Once we ply him with eggnog and give him his gifts, he'll be fine. Now boys, shall we get to wassailain or wrasslin'?"

"Ah, that reminds me!" Spike chirped up. He began to waddle away, having great difficulty walking in his lion outfit. "I'll see yous guys later."

Joseph frowned. "What? You were going to help set up the shaved ice machine with me."

"Er...later, Joey! I promise! Robbie can handle it til then. Ice is sorta his thing."

Colt tapped his finger against his chin, watching Spike vanish into the crowd. "What on Earth has gotten into that boy's head?"

"If I had to guess?" Joseph sighed. "Either sex or violence."

"Probably both."

"Yep. Probably both."

---

Spike's face lit up with pure excitement. "Oh boy, a royal rumble and Secret Santa! The perfect Yuletide gift." 

The four spellbreakers in the arena, situated at the four corners, all took turns either smirking or flexing at each other. The Yule fair was the perfect cover for a clandestine fight in the practice ring. 

Spike, wearing a red velvet robe (perfect for the season) revealed his studly physique and candy-cane striped briefs. "And I'm gonna win, boys! Hey, check out my festive gear."

"Cute briefs," Rexford said from his corner. He stretched his legs and tugged on his forest green trunks. "But fat chance." He strutted over to Spike and thumped his chest against his, daring him to fight back.

But Mr. Holt had other motives. He whispered to Spike. "But...let's team up til' it's just you and me, eh?"

Spike winked at him. "Deal."

Iggy fixed his blue hair into a ponytail, using a hair tie with a fitting, star accessory. "Ho ho ho..." he said, striking a most muscular pose to intimidate his little jobber opponents. "Or should I say, ho ho hoes. With an 'e'."

Cian slapped his knees, finding Iggy's insult to be the pinnacle of hilarity. A Scrooge to the core, Cian had refused to wear any festive wear, choosing his standard, black singlet instead. "Ha! Good one, Iggy."

Spike glowered at his rivals. "Ugh. What happened to England, Cian? I thought we had something goin' on now?"

"I might be slightly more cool with you now, Boyo, but I still love kicking your arse!"

Iggy patted Cian affectionately on the head. "But look at him! He is adorable, muscular, and sadistic. Just how I like it." He cracked his knuckles. Cian and Iggy turned to their opponents, staring them down hungrily. "Let's show these boys who's on the naughty list, eh?"

Spike and Rex sprung on Iggy before he could react. "Get their hot, Brazilian butt!" Spike said, grabbing one of his chiselled arms, while Rex grabbed the other. They picked them up and slammed them on the mat, putting Iggy into a double arm bar. 

"What!" Iggy bellowed. "You...little. Your arm bars suck, number one! And number two, when I get out of here..." He cringed. "Ugggh."

"What's wrong, teach?" Spike laughed, digging his boots into his mentor's ribs. "Sad you're about to tap to a bunch of twunks."

"Revenge is sweet!" Rex said. 

Iggy's eyes flashed neon green with rage. "CIAN! Get over here and wallop these sluts!"

"You got it!" Cian said, kicking Rex in the back of the head.

"Ohhh...sugar plums," Rex squeeked as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

"I forgot how hard Cian's legs hit," Spike growled. He watched the Faeblood Brawler dig into his prey, picking up Rex and shoving him into his pits for a choke.

"Robbie showed me how to do this one," Cian laughed. "Bet you miss Wolf Daddy's scent, eh?"

"Mmmm. Smells like Irish Spring..."

"Awww," Iggy said, fake-pouting. "Looks like your little friend's in trouble." With his other arm free, Iggy reached over and grabbed Spike by the throat. "And so are you, sexy."

"Oh...fuck..." Spike gasped. 

Iggy glared, and blew a loose strand of hair out of his face. "On your feet. Now."

Spike had no choice. Iggy's grip on his trachea was iron hard. "Wow...teach...your hair looks really good...tied back."

Iggy smiled. "Aw, thanks." Then, still smiling, he picked Spike up into the air and choked slammed him into the canvas.

Candy canes danced before dizzy Spike's eyes. "Unnngg..."

"Get 'em, Astro," Cian laughed. "Aww...this one's all tapped out!" He let Rex fall to the mat, drooling. "Too bad for you, lad, I worked up a sweat earlier building all the scaffolding for the neato ice castle. Heh. What a jobber. Also, you really need to change your name." He scratched his head. "Rexford sounds like T. Rex, and Holt sounds like Colt."

"That's why he's a guest character," Spike said off-handedly.

Iggy had already scrambled up gracefully to the top rope. From his perch, he looked down at Spike, trying to peel himself off the mat.

"I think I'll defeat you with your own move," Iggy said, getting ready to Moonsault Spike into sweet oblivion. And then I'll put that little pup Robbie down and secure the win! 

Iggy Astro flipped into the air with gymnastic excellence. He sailed to his target, relishing the blow he was going to deal his favorite punching bag.

Something stopped him before he landed.

Or rather, someone.

"Huh?"

Finding himself in a princess carry, Iggy looked up into the soft, hazel eyes of...

"S-Santa Claus!"

Bearded Gio, in a Santa hat and inspired singlet, reared his head back. "Ho ho ho! It is me! Santa Titan."

Enough recovery time had passed that Spike was able to peel himself off the mat. He cradled his sore head and throat. "W--what? G-man!?"

Smiling warmly, Gio tossed Iggy aside and into the ropes like he was an unwanted present. "A royal rumble without Colt's approval! Tsk tsk. You're ALL on the naughty list now." 

Rexford came to, long enough to join Iggy and Spike in their mutual confusion at this late entry.

Still grinning, Gio cracked his knuckles. "And now...Santa is going to dish out his just rewards."

Spike bit his lip. "Oh, you know what, maybe I don't want to..."

"Not so fast, cutie!" Gio laughed, grabbing Spike by the back of his briefs, exposing his peachy butt. He tugged his opponent towards him and forced him to face him head on.

"Hehehe" Spike laughed nervously, readjusting his briefs (now half up his ass). "Santa! Oh boy." He gave the big, muscle man a flirty look. "Do you want me to sit on your lap?"

"Spike Waterford! You are on the naughty list for sitting on Kengo's face when you got drunk together that one night. You get...a bear hug!"

The giant gripped Spike and hugged him tight, compressing his lower back and driving it into his naval.

Spike choked. "GAAAH....MY SPINE! I GIVE!"

Gio turned around and tossed Spike cleanly out of the ring. "Very good! Now...who's next?"

Rex, still catching his breath from Cian's usky punishment, crawled on hands and knees to get away from the Titan. Gio easily reached out and plucked both of his legs, dragging him towards certain doom.

"And as for you, Mr. Holt! You snuck a kiss with El Amante when Iggy wasn't looking."

Iggy shook the dizziness out of their head. "He did...WHAT?"

Rex tried to feign innocent. "Awww...that wasn't anything!"

Gio nodded. "For being such a naughty boy. NECK BREAKER IN YOUR STOCKING!"

The big man abruptly turned around, grabbing Rex by his neck, and drove him down into his shoulder. It was an instant KO. Gio sat on the ground and folded his arms, smiling at his two standing opponents, looking on in horror.

Cian wasn't so easily defeated. "Come on, Iggy, we got this in the bag!" He charged forward. "You may be my mentor, Gio, so sorry about this. Let's send Santa back up the chimney!"

Gio reached out and grabbed Cian around the neck, easily. "Oh, you are going IN the bag, Cian. You have been especially naughty this year. Beating up on Spike and making him smell your used jockstraps!"

Cian struggled to breathe. "Hey let me out!"

With ease, Gio scooped Cian up and held him in the air. "Okay!" he said, power bombing him into the canvas.

The ring shook.

"Unngggg..." His own finisher. How humiliating! 

Gio dragged Cian on top of Rex, t hen gingerly stepped out of the ring to drag Spike back in and add him to the pile.

Watching all of this with a mix of concern and amusement, Iggy tossed back his ponytail, letting his self-made stardust fall from his luscious locks. "Oh, so I win, right?"

Gio crossed his arms in front of his massive, hairy chest. "Hmm. Inaci Vara. Which boys did you make cry this year?"

From the pile behind Gio, everyone weakly held up their hand. "Uuggh."

Iggy played innocent, batting their eyelashes at their formidable opponent. "Oh, Santa, Santa. You jolly stud. Do you think you could punish the Prince/ess of Punishment?" As soon as he drops his guard, I'm gonna choke him out with my thighs. And then, I'll be the star atop this Yuletide tree! 

Gio nodded. "I suppose I can be lenient this one time." He turned away. 

"Of course! Thanks, Santa." Iggy leered and ran forward. "You're a real, jolly ol'-"

Gio whipped around and punched Iggy right in the chest, sending them bouncing into the ropes and then down right into Gio's legs.

He grabbed Iggy by the ponytail. "That...was naughty."

 "AGH, NOT THE HAIR! NOT THE HAIR!"

"Hahaha!" Gio yanked Iggy off the ground and held them inverted. "Oh my, looks like your stocking is already stuffed full," Gio said, blushing, as he caught sight of Iggy's bulge in front of his face. "For you, Astro, a piledriver under the tree!"

"NO! NOT THE FACE! NOT MY PRETTY F-"

WHAM!

Gio had no problem dragging Iggy's twitching body by the ponytail and adding it to his pile of conquests. Dusting off his hands, Gio the Titan sat on top of his victories as the moaned or otherwise remained motionless beneath his might.

"Ah, Santa's naughty list is complete. I am the winner! Hahahaha!"

In the breakroom, a fully clothed Spike placed the bag of ice on his head and winced. "Ohhh my head."

He felt something drop into his lap. He looked down at the small, wrapped box, and then up into Iggy's grumpy (and bruised) face. "Huh?"

Iggy sighed. "Gift swap, stupid. Secret Santa, remember?"

Spike glared over at Gio, pouring one of his rare wines for Cian and Rex. "Better than suplex santa," he grumbled. Gio saw him and toasted him. No hard feelings. Spike smiled. 

The fighters gathered around the table, each of them exchanging packages (all very poorly wrapped).

Cian beamed with gratitude. "Look at that! A pack of new jock straps! Mmm." He pressed them to his face. "Smells fresh." Then, he gave Spike a knowing glance. "Hehehe but not for long. Thanks, Rexford!"

Rex, massaging his sore neck, grinned back and unwrapped his gift. "No problem! Hey, the strategy guide for Warriors of the Marsh! Now I can unlock the secret, all male hotsprings scene." He drooled at the thought of all those Warring States studs getting soapy with each other in his digital fantasy.

Spike nodded. "See, I listen to you!" He opened the small box, probably the most elegantly wrapped of all of them. "Oh, what's this?"

Iggy looked away. "Don't...don't get too excited."

Inside the delicate tissue paper sat a new pair of wrestling trunks. Spike's heart melted. "OMG is this...new gear! Pink? AND A NEON GREEN ANCHOR WITH A STAR IN THE MIDDLE?" He held them up in front of his face. "Now I'll match you, teach?"

Everyone in the room gushed. "Awwww."

Iggy looked like he was either going to be sick or faint. His face turned bright red. "Well, I was so tired of all the navy and blue. Let your mentor give you some colo--"

Spike threw himself into Iggy, wrapping his arms around his muscular build.

Iggy couldn't fight back the smile. "Oh...so we are doing the hugging now."

"Thanks, teach!" He kissed them on the cheek.

Politely, Iggy pushed his mentee off of him and turned to his own gift, in a slap-dash gift bag. "And from Cian." He unfolded the hockey jersey for everyone to see. "Err...Icewolf's hockey jersey."

Sweating, Cian gave Iggy a pained smile. "I got invited to this last minute..." he threw Spike a dark look. "So all I had was Robbie's shirt that he gave me. Well, one of them. Look, he gave me several. I don't understand him."

Iggy shrugged, "Meh. I can turn it into a crop top. It will be very cute. Thank you, stud."

With all gifts exchanged, and wine doing the work for all of them, Spike looked towards Gio. "Oh, crap, G-man. We didn't know you were coming. We should have gotten something for you. Especially since you won, after all."

"Cheater," Iggy coughed. "Oooh, sorry. Cold coming out."

Gio ignored the diss, instead standing and pulling Spike into another big squeeze. "I do not need anything! Your friendship is the present. Come here, guys."

Whether or not they wanted to, the other boys found themselves in a tight group hug, muscle against muscle.

Spike squeeked. "Awww...oowww...my spine."

"Happy Yuletide," Santa Gio said. "To much fighting and hugging this year!"

To Be Continued