Santa hat on her head, he's got her pinned down

She’s got a Santa hat on, the fluffy white trim kind of messy from the way he’s got her pinned against the wall. Her skin is slick, maybe from sweat or something else, and his hands are gripping her waist hard. He’s got her back pressed into the dark wall, and she’s looking up at him, eyes wide. The room is dim, just enough light to see the tension in his shoulders and the way her breath hitches. No music, no noise except for their breathing and the slight scrape of skin against skin. It’s not loud or flashy — just raw, real, and heavy. He’s got her pinned, she’s not fighting back, just letting it happen. The Santa hat is the only thing that feels festive in this moment. The rest is just heat and pressure and the quiet hum of the room around them.