if you want peace, stop fighting. brendon/ryan, pg, for jocondite
For: jocondite
Title: if you want peace, stop fighting.
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 6453
Rating: pg
Summary: There is something wholly satisfying about the crunch of Brendon's car tyres over the white limestone driveway. He rolls the windows down and enjoys the feel of the sun beating down. There is not a cloud in the sky and Brendon can hear birdsong from the large, lush trees that pepper the country-side. It is, in a word, picturesque. futurefic. fixing things.
Author's Notes: OH MY GOD. Let me first say, foxxcub I love you to pieces but writing for someone I adore is A BRAINFRYING TASK. But also, Ilyhon, for giving me fifty million extensions every time I sent an email saying, "shit! I need more time." To jocondite, SURPRISE! I'm a shitty liar, but here you go. This is for Monday nights, Tuesday afternoons, and the treasure trove of things on Glebe Point Road. For being my Sydney Uni friend. I also believe this fulfills my end of the Ryan Ross abroad fic bargain. (I'm sneaky like that.) I also owe huge debts of gratitude to sekkritbandomlj softlyforgotten and witheveryspark for not letting me give up on this and kick it to the curb. You are three wonderful ladies, and I am blessed to have you in my life.
Brendon taps his fingers against the steering-wheel of his Smart Car and winds up the driveway, eyes straying to the browned workers, diligently tending rows of grape vines, stretching over the rolling hillsides. It's not the first place he would have chosen for Ryan to disappear to, but when he reaches the house, there's a record playing and Ryan stands in the doorway, waiting in a linen suit.
Title: if you want peace, stop fighting.
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 6453
Rating: pg
Summary: There is something wholly satisfying about the crunch of Brendon's car tyres over the white limestone driveway. He rolls the windows down and enjoys the feel of the sun beating down. There is not a cloud in the sky and Brendon can hear birdsong from the large, lush trees that pepper the country-side. It is, in a word, picturesque. futurefic. fixing things.
Author's Notes: OH MY GOD. Let me first say, foxxcub I love you to pieces but writing for someone I adore is A BRAINFRYING TASK. But also, Ilyhon, for giving me fifty million extensions every time I sent an email saying, "shit! I need more time." To jocondite, SURPRISE! I'm a shitty liar, but here you go. This is for Monday nights, Tuesday afternoons, and the treasure trove of things on Glebe Point Road. For being my Sydney Uni friend. I also believe this fulfills my end of the Ryan Ross abroad fic bargain. (I'm sneaky like that.) I also owe huge debts of gratitude to sekkritbandomlj softlyforgotten and witheveryspark for not letting me give up on this and kick it to the curb. You are three wonderful ladies, and I am blessed to have you in my life.
Brendon taps his fingers against the steering-wheel of his Smart Car and winds up the driveway, eyes straying to the browned workers, diligently tending rows of grape vines, stretching over the rolling hillsides. It's not the first place he would have chosen for Ryan to disappear to, but when he reaches the house, there's a record playing and Ryan stands in the doorway, waiting in a linen suit.