Tao has never liked mistletoe.

He finds it both emotionally manipulative and, almost by definition, non-consensual. The whole point of the “tradition” is to use social obligation as a way of forcing someone into engaging in physical activity they don’t want to. If two people really wanted to kiss, Tao figures, they wouldn’t need the excuse of mistletoe, they would just do it. The only people who benefit from mistletoe are the perpetually creepy and boundary-less, the tipsy men at office parties, with wedding bands on their fingers, who corner their younger subordinates under plastic, store-bought holly, and demand a favor in the name of Christmas spirit.

Tao could write novels about how much he hates mistletoe.

Which is why it makes absolutely no sense that he’s currently standing under some mistletoe.

 “So, is it worth it to ask why you’ve spent the last thirty minutes of this party standing in this doorway?”

Tao glances over at Xiumin who stands beside him holding a red plastic cup and wearing a pair of felt reindeer antlers. He points upward in lieu of answering and Xiumin follows his finger, catches sight of the mistletoe, and dramatically launches himself away from Tao. Tao would be offended by the show of revulsion, except that it would be hypcritical---he finds the prospect of kissing Xiumin equally as repulsive as Xiumin does---so he simply turns his attention back to the party around him.

“Okay,” Xiumin says from a safe distance, “So you’re standing under mistletoe. Which means…” he looks out at the crowd of people milling around Chen’s apartment, “…that there’s someone in here you want to kiss.”

There is. Tao’s been aware of the man's presence the entire night, keeping tabs on him through the party crowd (and good God, is Tao the creepy, boundary-less guy of mistletoe folklore?). He knows that he shouldn’t look over at the food table right now. Xiumin is watching him, waiting for any kind of tell as to who it is he wants to kiss, but he can’t help himself. His eyes shift over, fixing on Kris’ face just in time to see him laugh at something Kai has said. Both he and Xiumin watch as he picks up a frosted cookie from the table beside him and casually pops it into his mouth.

“Oh, man,” Xiumin whispers. “You want to kiss Kris.”

“Shut up,” Tao mutters, looking away from Kris, as though averting his eyes now will negate the past thirty seconds of outright staring. “Shut up, Xiumin. Drink your drink.”

Xiumin raises his plastic cup and toasts Tao, knocking back more of the spiked eggnog. He crunches the cup in his fist and tosses it over to the trashcan beside him where it lightly hits the rim and bounces off.

“I’m gonna help you out,” he says resolutely. “Don’t you worry, Tao.”

“Wait, what?” Tao gets out, whipping around on him in alarm, but Xiumin’s already across the party, appearing to be in deep conversation with Chen.

Tao doesn’t quite understand what happens over the next half hour, though it could probably best be summed up as watching Xiumin hatch plan after plan to get Kris to stand under the mistletoe with Tao and then, subsequently, watching each plan fail horribly. At one point, Xiumin simply stands behind Tao and the mistletoe and calls over a very confused looking Kris, but Tao panics at the last minute and ducks out from the mistletoe, leaving Xiumin to scramble and create a valid reason for seeking Kris out.

The party eventually, disappointingly, winds down, with Tao as unkissed as ever, Kris no doubt wondering why an increasingly drunk Xiumin seems hell bent on maneuvering him around the party, and a pile of discarded red cups outside of the trashcan that’s larger than the pile within it. Tao pulls a slurring Xiumin into one of Chen’s guestrooms and sets a glass of water and two aspirin on the table beside the bed (a drunk Xiumin is, unfortunately, not a rare occurrence, and they’ve worked up something of a routine). One of the last people to leave the party, he informs Chen of Xiumin’s state, and steps outside into the cold air, pulling his gloves out of his pocket.

“So, I hear you were trying to get me under the mistletoe.”

Tao freezes where he’s shoving his fingers into the gloves and turns slowly to find Kris walking up to him. His cheeks are red and he sniffles audibly and Tao wonders just how long he’s been waiting out here. Wonders why he’s waiting out here.

“I, uh…” he begins, “I don’t know what Xiumin told you, but---“

“He told me exactly what you think he told me,” Kris says. “He told me that kissing me under the mistletoe was the reason you were standing in the doorway to the kitchen the entire night.” Tao looks up and Kris confirms, “Yeah, I noticed.”

Tao can’t quite gauge Kris’ reaction. He isn’t sure if they’re having a fight right now, or if he’s being scolded, or if they’re joking, or what, so he stays silent, responding with nothing more than excessive nodding and hoping that Kris will take from it whatever he needs to take from it and end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“I always hated mistletoe,” Kris tells him quietly and Tao sort of wants to die.

He speeds up the rate of his nodding (please, God, let this conversation end) and glances down to his feet, watching them as they shuffle nervously against the pavement.

“It just seems so stupid, you know?”

Kris’ voice sounds undeniably closer than it did mere seconds ago and Tao glances up to see that Kris has taken a step nearer to him. He watches Tao intently, his breath coming out in a visible gust in the cold air, and takes another step forward. He’s less than a foot away from Tao now, standing tall over him, and Tao feels heat blossom in his stomach and roll through his body, prickling the back of his neck.

Kris stares down at him, his eyes shifting down to Tao’s lips as he speaks. “If two people want to kiss each other, they shouldn’t need mistletoe to do it. Right?”

“Yeah,” Tao croaks out. Kris is still watching his lips, so Tao allows himself the luxury of looking at Kris’ own, focusing on the soft dip of the bow, their winter-reddened color. “That’s what I’ve always thought.”

Kris nods. Not Tao’s nervous, rambling nodding, but just once. Sure, decisive.

“Good.”

His hands, cold and yet not unpleasant, come up to Tao’s face and he leans down, fitting his lips over Tao’s and pressing softly. Tao breathes out a soft sigh, two overcome to do much of any return kissing, so Kris takes the reins (which is a pun that Tao would definitely laugh at if he weren’t otherwise occupied with Kris’ lips against his and a warm tingling in his stomach). Kris parts Tao’s lips with his own and coaxes Tao into action with gentle movements, his tongue, burning hot in the cold, sliding along the crease of Tao’s lips, his teeth gently tugging at his lower lip.

After a few minutes, when they’re kisses have turned noticeably more intentional and other body parts are starting to be incorporated, Kris delivers one last kiss to Tao’s lips and pulls back, still keeping his hands on the sides of Tao’s face.

“So,” he breathes, sounding the tiniest bit undone. “Did it live up to the hype?”

“No,” Tao says honestly. Kris frowns, an adorable, confused frown, and Tao adds, “You’ll need to try harder.”

Understanding crosses Kris’ face and he grins. Hands slide down to Tao’s waits and he pulls him in roughly, prompting Tao to let out a gasping laugh as Kris’ lips find his jaw, heating him in the freezing winter air.