Author's Note: This may have crossed into grilled cheese territory. Apologies if this is so.

* * *
"Last stop, honest," Nyota said as she led Spock into a shop that sold women's clothing and accessories.

He followed her in, packages in hand, as she perused the tables. Looking around, he realized that this was a store that sold a very limited array of women's clothing. Specifically, robes, nightgowns, undergarments and lingerie. There was an assortment of jewelry and other, for wont of a better term, accessories near the till but the rest of the store was decidedly … lacy.

He sincerely hoped Nyota was shopping for someone other than his mother in here. Even with his ears covered by his hat, he was getting curious stares from the other, female, shoppers.

"Nyota, why are we here?"

"I'm buying a gift for someone."

This seemed unlikely, but after some consideration he identified Gaila as the likely recipient of a gift from this store.

"What do you think of this?" Nyota held up a nightgown (he guessed) that would barely skim her thighs. Spock did not, for a moment, entertain the thought of how it would look on Gaila. Although white was a good colour for green skin.

Focus.

"It is passable."

"Only passable? Hmm, okay." She continued perusing the racks, still holding onto the white garment and pulled out several more items but did not ask for further opinions. He pondered the intersection of Human and Orion cultural traditions that would culminate in this situation.

Lost in that thought, it took him some time to realize that Nyota was no longer shopping and that they were standing in a line up. Then Spock realized she was waiting to try on the clothing that she had picked out. Odd, considering that it was a gift, but perhaps there were aesthetic considerations he did not appreciate. When it was Nyota's turn, Spock stepped aside to wait for her only to have her usher him into the back with her.

"Nyota—"

"You can sit down. I might be a while," she said, following Spock into the cubicle. "Besides, I need a second opinion."

Perhaps there were merits to Christmas after all.

He sat down on the bench and deposited their packages beside him as Nyota stripped off her coat, hat, and boots and then set to work on her clothing. In short order, she was stripped down to her white panties and unhooking the white nightgown from its hanger. She slipped the garment over her head and examined herself at several different angles before turning to Spock.

"What do you think?"

Although the garment appeared to be opaque, it was actually several layers of diaphanous material that moved independently. From some angles it was almost virginal and from others, not so much. At the moment Nyota faced him directly, and it was decidedly not virginal.

"It has features I did not fully appreciate earlier."

"It's a little frilly, though."

Spock did not know how to respond to that.

"What criteria are you trying to satisfy?" He asked, dodging the white nightgown as Nyota discarded it and moved to the next item.

"I'll know it when I find it," she said, slipping on a black satin bra (soon discarded because it was too plain), a lavender lace bustier that did an admirable job of attracting attention to her breasts (at least Spock thought so, not that his attention needed attracting), and a form-fitting red stretch velvet teddy with soft white trim.

This last one she thinks about for some time, bending over, which provides a nice view of her posterior and likely a nice view of her other assets though Spock can't see them from where he is sitting.

"What do you think?"

Spock thinks many things in that moment, foremost in his mind is that he would much prefer it if Nyota was wearing nothing at all, however he doubts that this is what she is asking.

"It is seasonal," he offers. As she turns to examine another angle, he transfers one of their packages to his lap. The look on her face when she catches him out of the corner of her eye tells him that he has not been surreptitious enough. She stands in front of him and moves the package back to the bench.

"No opinion, huh?"

When Nyota emerges from the store, she is carrying a small bag—too small to hold any of the items she had been trying on for the last 23 minutes. When he asks about her purchase, she tells him that it is earrings for Gaila.

"So the time spent trying on garments was simply to test my control?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Humans.

More than an hour passes before they arrive home. A quick stop to pick up a food order turns into a 47-minute wait with too many customers in much too small of a space. The only redeeming element is that they manage to find seats after 14 minutes. With all their purchases in their laps to keep the bags from being trampled, no one notices—or likely cares since the customers were all human—that they were holding hands for the duration.

As soon as they arrive at his home and the door closes behind them, shutting out the rest of the world, Spock sets his sights on his objective.

It's not the food.

Nyota has beaten him to the kitchen (he assumes that at some point he will find the fastenings of his Terran boots intuitive, but that day is not today—or perhaps he is thinking of other things and that is why his fingers fumble at the laces).

She is at the counter, setting out the food, when he comes up behind her. She starts when she turns around to find him right behind her.

"Hungry?"

"In a manner of speaking." He leans forward and runs a finger along her jaw, dipping down along her neck. "You have been teasing me."

"Have I?"

"Yes."

"I guess that puts me on the naughty list. I always suspected Santa of sending elves to check his list twice."

She wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him a little closer so that his hips are flush against her body.

"And I am the elf in this scenario?"

"I think we pretty much established you're the elf today."

It is the only moment today that he is, in fact, willing to indulge the notion that he is an elf.

"And how do you propose that I determine whether you are, in fact, naughty or nice?"

"You're a genius. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

He can, in fact, conceive of a number of ways of testing the hypothesis.

"Hmm, is that a candy cane in your pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?" She nips his ear and then adds, for good measure: "Elf."

"Candy cane, Nyota?" It's not that he has an ego to maintain, but purely in the interest of accuracy he feels the need to correct her. She kisses him to shut him up and it's a while before the conversation continues. He's not the only one who's been teased all day.

He lifts her up onto the counter, putting her at a more comfortable kissing height. The fact that her legs can wrap around his waist is an entirely foreseeable and intended benefit.

"I'm sorry, did I say candy cane?"

"You did."

"I, of course, meant Yule log."

He's not certain what a Yule log would be, but it sounds bigger. In fact, it sounds uncomfortable, from both a male and female perspective. Perhaps a Human male would be flattered at the implied compliment, however he finds this comparison as inaccurate as the last. He is about to say so when Nyota preempts him, giving him a look that suggests he not pursue accuracy at this particular moment.

"Are you suuure, it's not a candy cane? I only ask," she says, entwining one of her hands in his and guiding it to her face, "because I really, really like candy canes. They're really fun to lick."

This is followed by a demonstration … on his finger.

"And suck," she adds, furthering her demonstration. He can feel his pulse in his finger as the blood pools at the tip. "And nip."

"Your point is taken," he says, rescuing his finger and divesting himself of his turtleneck and thermal shirt. He slides his hands under her sweater dress pushing it up along her thighs. With a little help from Nyota, he gets it up to her waist but as he pulls it up over her head, he pauses when he sees what is underneath: a stretch velvet teddy with soft white trim and a satin bow.

In green.

The white trim is feathery under his touch; the green velvet smooth except where his touch elicits a reaction.

"Spock?" Nyota asks, her voice somewhat muffled by the rolls of sweater around her head. "It's tradition to finish unwrapping a present before playing with it."

The sweater is quickly removed. Not being one to trifle with tradition, Spock promptly removes the rest of her street clothing. And makes to move on to his own clothes.

"You're supposed to let a girl open her own packages," Nyota points out capturing his hand with one of hers and using her other hand to investigate her gift.

"Were you intending on waiting until the 25th to do so?" He was uncomfortable in his pants before and Nyota's caresses are not improving matters.

"Oh, I think I'll get to open this one a couple of times before Christmas yet."

"That is a near certainty."

"You certainly give as good as you get," Nyota says, from her side of the bed. Seeing the look he gives her, she adds, "Presents, that is. Never mind."

Amused by her own joke, Nyota begins giggling.

"Nyota, has it ever occurred to you that the fact that I do not find a comment humorous is not a reflection of my lack of comedic appreciation but rather an indictment of the attempt at humour?"

This, at least, puts an end to the giggles. Nyota tries to parse his sentence, but in her post-orgasmic haze she gives up and instead opts for "What?"

"Your comment was not humorous."

Her response is to lazily wallop Spock in the face with her pillow.

"Childish," he admonishes, capturing the pillow before it can be reused.

"Effective," she counters, grinning. "So, are you starting to like Christmas yet?"

"It comprises a number of illogical and contradictory traditions."

"Not the question."

"It does have its favourable aspects," he says, tracing the lines in the palm of her hand.

"Yes, it does." As further response, his hand is directed elsewhere.