Finn woke with a start. He'd thought he'd heard something, some rustling and bumping around, but now there was silence. Probably a fox outside, something like that. Or maybe he'd just dreamed it. That was pretty likely.
He grabbed his phone from the night stand and clicked the side buttons. The screen lit up, dazzling him. He blinked rapidly, waiting for his eyes to adjust. 02.34 read the displau. The middle of the night. It had been Christmas Eve when he'd fallen asleep, now it was Christmas Day. Whoop-de-doo. Another day to do fuck all on his own. At least he didn't have to go to work. He could sleep through the whole day if he wanted to.
He became aware of the hardness of his cock, the rock solid tumescence of unconscious arousal. He slipped his fingers around it, hot in his hand. Well, if he was awake, he might as well --
There was the noise again! He let go of his dick and grabbed his phone again, activating the torch mode and shining it into the room. There was someone at the foot of the bed.
Finn sat bolt upright, feeling suddenly extremely vulnerable. He always slept naked, even in the winter. Now he thought that was a really stupid thing to do. Someone was in his bedroom and he was naked and helpless, only a duvet covering him.
"Hey, could you turn that off? Fucking hell!"
The voice was shrill and feminine. He almost dropped the phone in surprise when he heard it, but kept hold of it as he flailed around with his free arm, until he managed to locate the switch on the bedside lamp. A softer, yellow light filled the room, and he lowered the phone, diverting the torchlight away.
"At last! Thank you so much!" responded the figure in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "My fucking eyes..."
With the main light on, Finn's eyes were able to adjust properly, and he could finally see the figure clearly. He'd been right about the voice; she was a girl. He couldn't tell how old -- eighteen? Twenty? Twenty-five? She was so short and slight it was hard to be sure, but she was clearly adult and clearly a woman.
The intruder was no more than four-and-a-half feet tall, with pale skin, and a triangular bob of white-blonde hair. She was slender, dressed in a fitted green dress, with sleeves that ended in ruffled cuffs. The skirt was short, barely covering her legs, which were clothed in tight stockings with red and white stripes, making her look like she was atop two candy canes. She had boyish hips, but her breasts were clearly stretching the fabric around her chest.
Her face though... she was astonishingly pretty. That seemed like too small a word, but beautiful or gorgeous didn't seem right. She was pretty, in a sweet, unassuming way, yet exceptionally so. She wore a tall, conical red hat with a green brim. The top of the hat drooped over under the weight of what looked like a small brass bell. He realised he could see the tops of her ears, peaking out through her hair; they were sharply pointed.
"What the hell... who are you? What are you?" he babbled.
She gave him a withering look.
"What the fuck do I look like?" she snapped. Her voice had the faintest hint of an European accent - Swedish, Danish, something like that.
He considered the hat and the ears.
"Are you a gnome?"
She leapt onto the bed, causing him to jerk his knees up in shock. She looked him furiously in the eyes.
"A gnome? A fucking gnome? I'm an elf, you dicksplash! Fucking Christ!"
A glimmer of sleepy realisation dawned.
"You're an elf?" said Finn, hardly believing he was uttering the words. "On Christmas Eve?"
"More or less," she said. "It's Christmas morning now. Happy fucking holidays."
She was barely three feet away from him, standing on the bed. She grabbed his feet and pulled, forcing his legs straight and causing him to fall backwards onto the pillow. She clambered over him, standing above him, looking down with undisguised contempt. He tried not to freak out, and found himself focusing on the fact he could now see the tops of her stockings, pinching milk-white flesh under her skirt.
"Apologise for calling me a gnome," she demanded.
"I -- I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I've never met an elf before!"
"Well, you are supposed to be asleep." She looked at him closely. "Aren't you a bit old for this sort of thing?" she said. "The cut-off age is usually eleven."
"What are you talking about?" he gasped, beginning to wonder if he was actually still asleep. Hopefully he was. If this was a dream, then he wasn't going mad.
She sighed theatrically and rolled her eyes (they were green, of course). She reached into her dress and pulled a slip of paper out from between her breasts.
"Finnegan Burt," she read. "That's a stupid name, by the way. 'Finnegan Burt. Aged 24. Wish is as follows: Santa, or Father Christmas, or St. Nick, or whatever, please could I have a fleshlight for Christmas?' That's it." She screwed the note up and chucked it over her shoulder.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"That... I kind of remember... didn't I say that when I was drunk the other night?"
"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "Probably."
"To thin air!"
"He's always listening -- and watching. So you'd better be good, for goodness' sake."
"That's... distressing," he murmured.
"Why?" she asked, a vicious grin spreading across her face. "Have you been a bad little boy?"
He was starting to get pissed off with this alleged elf.
"Firstly, I'm not a little boy. It says aged 24 on there, right? And no, I have not been bad. I just don't like the idea of some fat bloke with a beard watching everything I do."
"What, like jerking off in bed?" She laughed, a tinny, tinkling sound that would have been rather sweet if she hadn't meant it so maliciously. "Yeah, I saw what you were about to do. I was gonna leave your present here and then watch, but you spotted me."
"OK, gross. So you're a peeping Tom elf?"
"You're the one staring up my dress," she said, hopping backwards and landing, butt-first on the bed between his legs. "And no, of course I'm not. I'm a present-delivering sort of elf. It's not my fault if you decide to pull your cracker while I'm here."
