Warning: this page contains slash fiction.

Despite the onset of Ragnarok and warning notices going around from various higher-ups, fiction of dubious quality keeps appearing around UNITED headquarters, and being sent to all UNITED email addresses, and forwarded to the gods by means of helpful UNITED staff members (Lt. Maes). The following piece claims to have been compiled using Top Secret mission notes as guidance; no comment has yet been received from the parties involved.

“There are worse ways to spend Christmas,” Jan Hueppals of the Nightwings conceded, “But not many.”

Demotte agreed. His daughter was old enough to miss her Daddy this Christmas and to ask questions about where he was and why he wasn’t with her this year – questions which Demotte could not answer for security reasons. He knew Jan was miserable for the same reason – Jan also had a little girl he was very proud of, and was bitter about UNITED calling them in from Christmas Eve to Boxing Day. Despite the roaring fire and the blizzard outside, it didn’t feel much like Christmas Day to either of them, Demotte hoped. Certainly it didn’t feel like Christmas to him.

Or shouldn’t feel like Christmas, anyway.

Jan had piled the logs high in the fireplace and the heat was stifling. They had each tried to hold out longer than the other against the heat – it was natural competitiveness and also a matter of pride – but the heat had won and when unbuttoning their shirts was not enough they had moved on to removing first those and then all other articles of clothing. There was no reason for it to matter – they had seen each other naked many times – dare games; the showers; unruly beach volleyball games; aid with basic needs in seedy motels – this should have been no different. But in the low firelight Jan’s muscles ripped under his golden skin like the sunset on the Pacific Ocean and every time his blue eyes looked up from his book he seemed to catch Demotte gazing adoringly at him.

“You could come and join me on the sofa,” Jan said. “You don’t need to stay on the floor all night just because you lost the bet.” He patted the space beside him invitingly. It did look a lot more comfortable. Demotte moved over to the sofa and lay down, facing him.

“I keep thinking about my wife,” Jan said after a pause. “She’s going to her sister’s this year and I know they don’t get on. She was very upset about my being away. . . with you.”

“Mine complained as well,” Demotte said. “She knows I love her, but that my job is important. She implied I had chosen this mission – despite the date – because you were going on it. I don’t want us to beat the Nightwings – which we’re going to, tomorrow – quite that badly. I can thrash you any time.”

“Oh yeah,” Jan responded, grinning in a way which Demotte could feel in his groin. “Kindly remember you’re sleeping on a soft sofa rather than the hard ground because I’m generous to the losing party.”

Demotte laughed. “Pick a contest, Jan – anything – and I’ll soon show you who’s the better man here. Loser has to get up and put more wood on the fire.

Jan smiled at Demotte in a devilish fashion and suggested a contest. Demotte blushed and his mouth fell open. Jan said that was a good start.

Much later that night, Jan decided that though there were better ways to spend Christmas, namely at home with your wife and child, there were definitely worse things than losing the Giving The Best Blowjob Contest.

Especially when the score was 3-1 in Demotte’s favour.