Fic: We Were Dreamers Not So Long Ago
We Were Dreamers Not So Long Ago
Jon/Ryan | NC-17 | ~6.5k
Set about ten years in the future in a cabin in the woods, Jon and Ryan go to unwind before they start up again. Ryan's less than pleased, but that changes quickly. (Futurefic, snowed in)
Written for jain for popoffacork. Thanks to anoneknewmoose for the beta and signsonaves, sinuous_curve, and my stephanometra for their encouragement
The cabin isn't what Ryan's expecting. He remembers the other cabin, the one that they rented almost ten years ago to make a real record, something about a wolf-musical and a hell of a lot of weed. That was a cabin, with comfortable rooms and huge windows to let in cool night breezes and plenty of shade and AC for the hot summer mornings.
This isn't a cabin, he decides, when Jon pulls up in the truck that he'd borrowed from his brother. This is a shack. It's already covered in snow and looks like a good wind would make it tumble into the ether, never to be seen again. There's a little junky boat for it, next to the little rickety pier that lets out onto some chunk of Lake Michigan or Erie or Huron. He fell asleep with Marley pressed against him, and he's not exactly sure where they are now.
Except that Jon has bought a fucking shack, and he expects Ryan to stay there for a few weeks while they destress from touring. They've only brought two guitars each, and Jon's only got one duffle of clothes (Ryan has two, but they have an entire fucking truck bed that's not filled at all.) and Jon told Ryan he was only allowed to bring three tambourines. They've got some food to start them off on the week, hotdogs and marshmellows and some other shit that he threw in last minute because he was hungry and he hopes Jon brought weed.
But even weed can't make the shack look better.
Jon, of course, loves it, slamming the truck door shut, and grinning like it's Christmas. (It's not; it's almost February, which Ryan feels is high time for the snow to have melted.) This was a profoundly stupid idea, and Ryan hopes he was drunk when Jon proposed this. He probably was; on their last night of tour in November, when Jon slung his arm around Ryan's shoulder and said, "Ryan, Ryan, I bought a fucking cabin. We have to stay there after this tour."
Of course, that was November, and Jon had to spend Christmas with his family, and January passed in a blur of parties and snow storms that kept him from flying into Chicago, and then Dylan had a hard couple of weeks and Ryan really thought he would have to fly in because Jon couldn't deal with putting Dylan down.
But Dylan got better, and Jon's parents have him and Clover because a lake-side cabin never doesn't sounds like a good idea for cats.
Why it sounded like a good idea for people is really beside Ryan.
Marley barks when he lands in the snow, bounding around until his coat is peppered, and that is pretty cute, at least.
Ryan gets out, finally, when Jon starts unloading the back, and he grabs one suitcase and his tambourine case (which is just another suitcase, only it's deep green and Ryan feels better pretending that it's an actual instrument case) and goes inside.
It really is a shack. There's a sagging old couch in the middle of the room, with a table in front of it, facing the fireplace. Then there's the smallest kitchen Ryan's seen outside of a tourbus or Brendon's old apartment, with a tiny stove and refrigerator off to the side. There's maybe two or three counters and a sink and three or four cabinets against the wall. He can see a bare pantry behind a half-closed gingham curtain, and there are three doors at the end of a tiny hall. There's a table shoved against a wall with two folding chairs around it.
Jon is grinning when he stands next to Ryan. "Isn't it great?" he says.
Ryan just stares at him. "Is there a heater?"
"Yeah," Jon says, and he points to a giant, dark gray thing in the corner, on the same wall as the "kitchen." "It's going to take a few minutes to kick up once I have it turned on, but we'll have heat."
"Okay," Ryan says, slowly, because he isn't going to have a panic attack on Jon. Spencer and Brendon are off doing some tour-retreat in Maui, and Ryan knows for a fact that Jon was invited, too. He knows because he was there two weeks ago when the weather was finally good enough for Jon to fly into LA for a long weekend, and Spencer mentioned it.
But, of course, Ryan had to be the one to say, "Oh, I think Jon wants to do a cabin thing," as soon as Spencer also mentioned Dallon would be coming along.
Ryan has nothing against Dallon, not really, except that he's one of the guys that replaced him and Jon, so he kind of has to have something against him. It doesn't matter that the split was his idea. All that matters is there was an interview where Spencer called Dallon "one of his best friends" and "one of the best bassists I know."
Ryan didn't know Dallon before the first tour they did with Brendon and Spencer after the split, in 2012. He knew Ian, and he knew Ian was a better guitarist already, so when Brendon called him the best, it only stung a little. Brendon's opinion never mattered as much to Ryan as Spencer's did.
"Your bedroom is on the right," Jon says helpfully, and Ryan makes himself smile and not think about Maui.
The floor creaks when he walks on it, and the carpet is really threadbare. The cabin's still freezing, and he can hear the wind through the windows as he pushes up the door to his bedroom.
The bed, at least, looks nice. The dresser is a piece of crap, and there's only a tiny mirror over it, and there's another curtain over the closet, but the bed has a pretty duvet cover with huge pink and red roses and mounds of fluffy yellow pillows. There is another yellow blanket folded at the end of the bed, and there's a nice picture window over the headboard.
He still hates this little shack, and he still hates that they're not in Hawaii, but he thinks that he could deal with this room.
That is, of course, until he hears Jon laughing and Marley barrels into his room, wet with snow and his tongue hanging out before he pounces on Ryan.
***
He feels better later, when Jon's got the heater running and there's snow falling gently outside. Jon's pulled all the extra blankets into the living room and Marley's dry again. He has his head in Ryan's lap and Ryan feeds him little pieces of hotdog when he thinks Jon's not looking.
Jon's also brought out the beer that Ryan didn't know was already stashed at the cabin. There's easily a full case or so of Coors Light and half a case of Blue Moon, and of course, there's wine. Ryan has a half-empty bottle by his leg, and Jon's in the kitchen making more. He's warmed and a little drunk, enough that he feels warm up into his cheeks and he's smiling at Marley as he feeds him the hotdogs that Jon left out on the table.
There isn't a television, but Jon has a record playing Beach Boys and Ryan has a half dozen books. He could go get his guitar and play music, but there's a dog next to his leg and he's had enough wine that his guitar case feels really far away. He leans back against the couch and starts to hum "The Other Girl." It's been three years since they've played that song, since Ryan decided that he didn't want to be bitter and angry anymore. The last time was on the reunion tour they played with Panic and Brendon's new side-project.
Ryan knows that Jon bought the cabin with the money from that tour and maybe a little bit more of their other money. The band's never done as well as Panic, never really made the rounds in the public eye as much. They have no VMA nominations, and their first album was kind of a flop. They've had a few singles that got enough attention that they can play mid-sized venues and fill them, but they're never going to go for an arena tour unless they open. They have critical success, the way Ryan thinks some poets did. They'll be famous when they're old and dead or not at all.
He doesn't care though, because he's actually happy. He's as happy as he's ever been, and he kind of likes his life. He lives in LA, and he can afford to jet off and see Jon at least twice a month. They have a bus usually.
And then Jon brings in two huge mugs of mulled wine and Ryan knows that he really, really loves his life.
"Have you been feeding him hotdogs?" Jon says, and he leans against Ryan's side, leaning over to drag Marley across both their laps. His words are slurring and he looks flushed. He's probably been helping himself to the wine as he went. "When he's all gassy, he's getting put in your room, Ross."
Jon's not mad, though, and Ryan drinks the mulled wine, listening to the record before the songs run out and then it's just Jon against his side, humming "Change" and his voice sliding into "She Had the World." Ryan laughs and he wants to record Jon and send it to Spencer. His iPhone is in his coat in his room, and if his guitar is too far, then his phone is way, way too far.
Marley makes grumbling sounds when he moves his legs, anyway, and Jon laughs and brushes his hands over the dog. "He's sleepy," he murmurs and he slurps his wine.
The sound makes Ryan laugh, and he closes his eyes a little. His mug is still pretty full, and he knows that he has to do something with the open bottle, but as soon as his eyes are closed he can barely open them again. He presses against Jon a little, and Jon laughs again.
"You are still such a lightweight," he says against Ryan's temple. He takes Ryan's mug, and he knows that Jon's going to be able to drink all of his wine and Ryan's. He wants to call Jon a drunkard, but when he opens his mouth, he's only able to make a soft sound. There are no words.
Marley's completely dead weight over his lap, and it just makes him warmer. He blinks again, once, just enough to see Jon lean forward to put the mug on a table, and then his eyes are closed and he's asleep.
***
Ryan wakes up around noon, and his head is pounding. He's on the couch, his butt stuck in a groove so much that it's impossible to roll over and try to escape the almost blinding light that's coming in the window. It's too quiet in the cabin, enough that he can hear the cabin roof creaking a little and the clacking of the heater. He sighs and sits up, trying to find Jon or Marley.
There's a glass of water and a cup of cold coffee on an end table, and he can't focus enough to grab them. His glasses are in his bedroom and this early, he can't help but wish he was wearing them. There's no one else in the room, and the mugs from last night are gone now.
"Jon?" he murmurs, and he tries to move far enough to see into Jon's bedroom, except the door's closed.
His eyes won't focus, and then the door pushes open. Marley comes in and jumps on him before he can register the cold air on his arms and face. He's tired, and his head is pounding too much. He all can see is the bright, bright white outside the door and then the dark shape of Jon.
"Jon?" he says again, and he frowns.
Jon steps closer, stomping around on the carpet. "So there was a blizzard last night, and it's still really coming down. I've got a path to the truck, but I think we're trapped here for a couple days."
Ryan wants to sleep still, and he can't see. His eyes have gone bad over the years, not to the extent where he needs his glasses all the time. He doesn't like that he needs them anymore than he likes the way his temples have gone gray a little, just at the edges. His hair isn't thinning like Jon's, where he's got a little bare patch starting at the crown and higher and higher peaks at the temples. Ryan thinks it's cute, not that he'd tell Jon.
It's funny the things you like when you're over thirty.
He shakes the idea off and takes the water off the corner table and follows Jon into the kitchen with Marley.
***
He doesn't know how late it is when he wakes up. He has two blankets on and thick wool socks, but he can feel the cold draft coming in his window and the room feels like it's lined with ice, like he's in one of those ice hotels in the middle of nowhere. He sits up, and he thinks that he can see his breath. (He can't, of course, the lights are off, and there's only darkness outside.
Ryan's freezing though. He picks up his phone to see the time. It's almost three in the morning, and he calls Spencer as he slides out of bed. He knows it's earlier there, in Hawaii, where Spencer isn't freezing.
Ryan doesn't know where the hall light switch is, so he stumbles out of the room and into the living room in the dark before Spencer answers, "Hello?" He sounds like he's laughing, and that makes Ryan a little more annoyed. He wishes he was warm and laughing, because he's shivering fast enough for his teeth clack together painfully.
"Spence," he says, and he has to stop to shiver again. "Spence, the heat's out and there is snow up to the windows." He knows that won't impress Spencer who spends at least two weeks a year in Colorado with his grandmother now that his grandpa is gone.
He's right; Spencer starts laughing too loud. "Oh, poor thing," he says. "You want to know how warm it is here? Or how I just got back from surfing?"
"Fuck you," Ryan says sharply. He feels around in the dark, and he only stumbles over two things. He thinks that something hits the ground and shatters, but he doesn't care. "The heat is out."
"Are you sure?" Spencer asks. Ryan can here Brendon laughing in the background, and Sarah talking about something. Ryan wants to say something about how Brendon should marry that girl--just because he knows it pisses Brendon off.
Spencer won't pass on the message because he's a dick. He doesn't like getting in between them picking at each other.
Ryan finds the heater and presses his hand to it. It's cold under his hand. "Spence, the heater's cold," he declares.
"You touched the heater? When you are snowed in and only have Jon to dress your wounds? Do you want to lose your hand?" Spencer sighs. "Look, go sleep with Jon and have him look at the heater in the morning. We're going out to dinner, and I found the hottest girl at the beach today, Ry. I'll send you a picture in the morning."
"You could send it tonight, before I freeze to death," Ryan snaps, but Spencer's already hung up, and Ryan needs his phone to try to light his way back to Jon's room.
He falls on his ass once, but at least Jon's room is a lot neater than Ryan's. He manages to get into the bed with only minor issues, and he cuddles up to Jon's back. He's still shivering, but Jon's blankets are heavier than Ryan's and he has Marley under the blankets. It's a hundred times warmer than the house.
Ryan presses his face against Jon's neck to keep himself warm. He knows the tip of his nose is freezing, but he can't be bothered. Even when Jon starts to stir and rolls over to face him, he just curls into Jon's chest. He can't get warm.
"Ryan?" Jon mumbles, and he touches Ryan's hair before he starts to push at his shoulder. "Ryan?"
He can't imagine moving, and he clings to Jon, curling his fingers around the thermal fabric covering Jon's chest. "The heat's out," he says, and he curls closer. "My window leaks."
Jon shifts. "'s cold," he says, sleep still thick in his voice. "I should go--"
"No, sleeping now," he murmurs, because he is fucking cold and he isn't going to let Jon out of this bed until he's warm.
Jon sighs, and there's a soft rumbling inside Jon's chest and Marley shifts so he's over both Ryan's and Jon's feet. Ryan is still tired and he still has his phone in one hand, but he isn't moving until he's warm.
He's asleep before that.
***
He comes out of Jon's room, and it's still freezing. He has a comforter around his shoulders like a cape. Jon's in front of the fire place with a pile of wood. "The heater's dead," he says, tone flat. "And I can't get this fire started." He has everything piled together, and Ryan can see some of the wood is wet.
"Do you have lighter fluid?" he says, shuffling closer. His feet curl up. The floor feels like it's ice. "Lighter fluid would take care of that."
Jon turns back at him, and Ryan can see the wood he has shoved into the fireplace, so it's full. He can also see the spot of gray that's started on Jon's beard. He thinks it started when Jon became single, years ago, and every year it seems a little bigger. Jon's almost old, Ryan thinks, and it should shake him. Jon's almost old, and if Jon is, then Ryan is.
He keeps shuffling along as Jon says, "If I had lighter fluid, don't you think I'd use it?" he says. He looks grouchy, and he throws up his hands. "We're going to freeze to death. I'm afraid to keep the oven running because it's gas, and if we die here, you are going to blame me until the end."
Ryan laughs softly and sits down next to Jon. He starts pulling out some of the wood, especially the wet pieces. "Go get me a towel and the wine from a couple of nights ago," he says, and he looks at Jon.
Jon has his eyebrows raised. "What are you doing?"
"I was a teenage pyro," he says, and he grins at Jon. "You don't think I never used whiskey to get something started? My dad was my dad." He smiles even though it still hurts to bring up his dad. He's older now than his dad was when he was born, but he wishes his dad was still here to see him be happy.
He isn't quite the teenage pyro he remembers, but he's still able to get the fire started in under a half-hour, enough that the wood is starting to hiss and crackle. Jon and Marley have gone outside to do whatever, and he spends a long time just sitting in front of the fire and letting the heat soak into his bones.
"Ryan?" Jon says, and he comes in with two glasses of wine. He sits down beside Ryan, in front of the fire, handing off one of them. "I didn't think you could do it."
He's shivering still, and he doesn't care too much for the wine that Jon's given him except that he'll feel warmer when he's done with the glass. Jon puts a blanket over their laps and an arm around his shoulders, so they're sitting together in front of the fire. There was a time where Ryan would have pushed the moment and pressed his lips against Jon's to see what would happen.
He feels kind of like the king of the wilderness because he's got Jon by his side and Marley comes over soon after, and they're all warming by the fire. Jon talks about making soup later and maybe trying to get down to the lake, to see if it's frozen over, but he doesn't care. He likes this moment, the way his chest goes tight when Jon strokes a hand against his neck.
Marley burps then, ruining the moment because Jon starts laughing and pushing him away, leaning over Ryan to do it. Ryan doesn't stop himself from laughing either.
***
They go to the lake later, looking for more wood to take into the cabin so it can dry. The lake's not exactly frozen and not exactly thawed, and Ryan doesn't pay much mind to it. He has Marley's leash to keep him from running too far into the water, and Jon has an armful of wood before long. It feels a lot like they're the only ones in the world, huge drifts of snow that have no shoe prints.
Jon points out footprints from rabbits and raccoons, and Ryan nods, listening along as Marley tries to dart after things that neither of them can see. Jon says that he's going to try to go to the store tomorrow morning, in the old truck that's rickety and red, and Ryan kind of pretends that it's the 1930s or something, when this kind of snow would have stopped everything.
He's thinking about that when Marley pulls too hard, and Ryan slips on the ice by the lake. He's pitching forward, and his skin feels like it's burning before he registers the feeling of water on his chest, soaking into his nice coat and into his shoes. Marley's leash leaves his hand, and Jon is shouting for Marley to come back and trying to get Ryan up out of the water.
Marley doesn't go far, of course, trotting back to Jon as soon as Ryan's on dry land. They aren't far from the shack, maybe a five minute walk, but every step feels like someone is stabbing into Ryan's toes and feet. Jon's dropped the wood, and he should tell Jon to go back and get more--but he's shivering too hard to walk straight and he just wants to get back to the cabin.
Jon's the one who keeps him moving, and Jon's mittens are wet against his wool coat, Marley barking at them to keep going, like he knows that they're going to give him food as soon as they walk in the door. He doesn't seem to give two shits that he's wet up to his neck. He's having a grand old time, even though Ryan feels ready to freeze to death.
As soon as they're back at the cabin, Jon's stripping him down like he's trying to get Ryan in bed. It's softer than it probably should be, but Jon's quick. He's stripping the coat off and tossing it against the couch, then Ryan's sweater and his turtleneck and then his courdoroys. He gets Ryan down to his boxers and pushes him against the blankets that are warm by the fire.
He's stripping himself then, and Ryan just kind of stares at Jon. Jon's stomach is starting to go a little flabby from beer and less devotion to working out. He wants to touch Jon there, above the waistband of his boxers, but Jon doesn't give him the time, laying down next to Ryan like he doesn't know that Ryan's almost naked.
"Body heat," Jon whispers, and his mouth is beside Ryan's ear. He shivers and turns next to him, his feet just beginning to burn when the blood comes back into them. He rests them against Jon's leg, and Jon makes a sharp sound.
"Cold," Ryan whispers back. He touches Jon's beard, the gray spot. "I could freeze to death."
Jon laughs and he kisses the tips of Ryan's fingers. "Then I'd have to crawl back to Brendon and Spence. I wouldn't let that happen."
Ryan looks at Jon's mouth, and he leans forward to slant their lips together. Jon's beard is a little over grown and it's scratchy against his mouth, but he's freezing and Jon is so warm. He can't help but curl his hand around Jon's neck and shoulder, pull him closer. Ryan's blood is rushing now, his cock going half hard against Jon's hip, but Jon doesn't mention it. He doesn't stop Ryan from kissing him, but it takes a minute for him to kiss back, to roll Ryan onto his back with his legs bracketing Ryan's.
They kiss and kiss in front of the fire until Ryan can't remember the feeling of the water and their hips are moving together. Jon tries to roll away, but Ryan won't let him, feeding needy sounds into Jon's mouth because he wants this. If there was lube close by, he'd let Jon fuck him here, in front of the fire on the hard floor. His back would ache for days after, but in that moment, it would feel so good. It would be so worth it.
But his stomach growls, and Jon breaks the kiss to laugh. "I think it's time to eat," he murmurs. The only light in the room is the dying fire, and Jon pulls away, going into the bedrooms in his boxers. He gives Ryan one of his sweatshirts, and he kisses Ryan again. "You need socks," he whispers, before he turns on more lamps.
Ryan throws another log on the fire.
***
They sleep in the same bed again, and Ryan wants to stay in a sweatshirt and no pants, but it's way too cold, even if they fall asleep kissing with two pairs of socks on. Jon makes them cocoa and more mulled wine, and it tastes kind of gross together. It's nice though, staying warm before Jon pulls him close and they kiss.
Ryan wakes up before Jon the next day, getting out of bed with Marley. The fire is down to embers, and he grabs a few more logs and a handful of paper, shoving them onto the fire. When it's starting to take, he puts the shield back up and goes into the kitchen. They're down to a few cans of soup and a bag of ready-made pancake mix.
He lets Marley out and checks the back of the package. It sounds like it should be easy, just a little water and a bit of oil. They don't have vegetable oil, so he uses melted margarine because it looks a lot like oil, and he uses the same thing in the pancake pan.
It's a disaster from the start, the kitchen filling with enough smoke to set off fire alarm, and the pancakes smell like ass. He pushes them around in the pan and Marley's barking outside. "Shit," he says softly and he turns off the stove except that his arm bumps the mixing bowl and the bowl falls on the floor, painting the blue and white linoleum floor with weirdly colored pancake batter.
The alarm is still screaming, and Marley start scratching at the door. "Ryan?" Jon calls, from back in the bedroom.
"It's okay!" Ryan calls back, except that it isn't okay because the pancakes are burning now, and Marley is scratching at the door. The fire alarm won't stop screaming. He goes out into the living room to at least get Marley inside the house.
When Jon comes out into the hallway, Ryan wants to go kiss him. His hair is mussed from sleep, and it looks thinner. He looks older, except that he's wrinkling his nose. Wrinkling his nose and looking at Ryan.
"I tried to make pancakes," Ryan says. "You can't go into the kitchen."
Jon narrows his eyes. "Did you make a mess?"
"Maybe," Ryan says. He runs a hand through his hair. "I tried to make them with the mix, and, um."
"We don't have everything for pancakes," Jon murmurs. He makes a face and walks around Ryan to pull open the door, going out into the snow in socked feet to get Marley in the house.
There's definitely something wrong with the batter, because Marley comes into the house and goes straight for the mess on the floor. He looks at it, sniffs it, and then he bounds back to Jon with his tongue hanging out.
Ryan grabs the fire poker and uses it to turn off the alarm, finally, and Jon looks at him. He's trying not to smile, and his eyes are bright. "I guess I need to try to get to the store today," he says, and he comes closer to Ryan with Marley around their legs.
He smiles softly, and his face is hot. The door's open behind them, cold air rushing around and prickling the back of Ryan's neck. Jon kisses him, though, and he feels stupid for leaning into it, tipping his head down. "It's snowing," he murmurs. "You shouldn't go."
"We need food," Jon says, and he scrapes his teeth over Ryan's lip. "We need food and other stuff."
Ryan makes a soft sound, and Jon pulls back. "I mean, we're snowed in. What else are we going to do?"
He grins and kisses Jon again. "You should hurry back."
***
He helps Jon dig out the truck and throw salt and sand over the driveway until he can get out onto the road. He stays with Marley while Jon goes out, curled up on the couch with the fire going. The pancake batter is cleaned up, and he sits with a book Spencer got him for Christmas, an anthology of a shit ton of early detective fiction and he barely notices when the sky goes dark.
It's only when Marley starts whimpering to go outside that he realizes that it's late, that the snow is falling faster and Jon isn't back. He tries to call him as he puts Marley on the chain. The metal sticks to his skin, but he won't let Marley get lost in a storm. Jon would never forgive him.
There's huge flakes and the snow is thicker than he remembers it being.
Ryan goes into the cabin to try to call Jon again, but he can't get service. He throws another log on the fire. He can't call Spencer either, and he can't text anyone. He paces in the cabin, looking out the few windows to look for the truck's headlights. He should be hungry because there's no food but soup, but he's not. His stomach is turning.
He doesn't know what to do. It's not about the band. He knows that he needs Jon; he needs Jon maybe more than he needs Spencer. It's weird to think about it like that, but it's the truth. He doesn't know what he'd do if he had to restart without Jon. He doesn't want to go back to making songs by himself. He knows more about instruments.
Marley starts barking again, and that makes Ryan feel worse. If Jon's stuck somewhere, he's going to have to take Marley at least, maybe Dylan and Clover. He doesn't want to think what he'd do with cats; he'd probably get a moving comb litterbox thing, but it wouldn't be enough. He'd forget and then the cats would go next. The cats would freak.
Dylan would die.
Ryan wants to throw up as he pushes open the door again, calling for Marley in the howling wind. He can't see Marley, even when he pulls on the cord to try and get him back to the house. Ryan's hands burn from the wind and the cold, and it's too dark to see if Marley's coming.
Ryan tries to shove his glasses up, so he can see distance better. It doesn't matter though, not in the dark.
Except when Marley finally comes bounding inside covered in snow and barking happily like he's done something great, Ryan sees the headlights of the truck and he stands in the doorway. He doesn't cry because he's not a girl, but when Jon gets out of the truck with his two bags of food, he launches himself at him. He doesn't care that he's only wearing socks and the snow melts under his feet, up into his pajama pants.
He kisses Jon's cold mouth, with snow around their lips and their noses cold against each other, and Jon laughs something into Ryan's mouth but he doesn't care. He stumbles back to the house on burning feet with Marley's chain in hand and Jon's hand on his side with a bag of groceries heavy with cans banging against his thigh.
"We need to get you warmed," he says when Jon has the door closed and latched. He pushes at Jon's coat, and his hands sting from the cold snow.
"Sorry," Jon says, and he bites Ryan's lip before he pulls away. "I got lost coming back, in the snow, and then it was dark--"
Ryan kisses him to shut him up. "You need to get warm," he says again, and he pushes Jon's shirt up, so he can touch the soft roll of Jon's stomach, the line of hair sneaking out from his boxers. "Body heat."
This time Jon gets it, and he takes Ryan's hands away. "Let me get Marley in the bathroom," he says, and he drops the groceries beside Ryan. He kisses Ryan's jaw, then bites his throat and collarbone. "You need go get nude, too, Ross. One-way body heat sucks."
He laughs, but his feet are freezing in his wet socks and his pants are wet. He pushes them down and gets naked as fast as he can. He knows he should savor this, but he mostly doesn't care. It's Jon. He knows that they'll fuck slow and wonderful and like in the movies, because Jon lives his life like he's a character from a fucking Christmas movie most days.
Tonight though, tonight he wants it quick, like this is how they're going to stay warm. Jon shucks off his shoes and his scarf, and he's mostly naked when he leans down next Ryan and grabs lube and condoms out of the grocery bag. He doesn't waste time with flowery words, kissing Ryan again, so they're stumbling back to the blanket nest that they have going beside the fire.
He takes the lube while Jon says something like, "I didn't know what size condom you use," like it matters right now because they're kissing with their cocks trapped between them. He gets his hand sticky with lube and passes it off to Jon. Pushing his cold fingers into his body feels weird for a moment, but it's a good weird, like something he might want to try later, when they're back to civilization.
Jon laughs then and he breaks the kiss to bump his nose against Ryan's glasses, where they're starting to fall out of Ryan's hair. He'd forgotten about them, and now his hands are too sticky to pull them off. He groans a little when he gets his fingers just where he likes them, and he means to ask Jon to take them off, to put them aside.
"I think this is kind of hot," Jon whispers, and he slides Ryan's glasses into place, so Ryan can see his face better, the glints of firelight in his beard. "Sexy librarian or something."
His hand circles around Ryan's cock then, giving it a dry tug before he's fumbling with the lube. He's already wearing a condom. Ryan can feel the smoothness of the latex against his own skin when Jon starts working lube over both of them, and his glasses are fogging from both of their breathing.
Ryan has three fingers inside of himself, and he kisses Jon. "You know we're going to need a shower, and we have no hot water," he whispers.
"I'll keep you warm, Ross," Jon says, and then he shifts, so he's not touching their cocks now. His fingers are brushing over Ryan's fingers, against his hole. "Let me fuck you, Ryan. You're ready, right? I've wanted this."
He kisses Jon and pulls his fingers away, so Jon can push into him. He lays against Jon, his cock caught between their stomachs. It's faster than he would have thought, and they're moving together.
"Ryan, sit up," Jon whispers, "Ride me, please, fuck." Jon's voice is scraping against his throat, and Ryan can't say no. He doesn't know how this is going to keep them warm, but he eases up and starts fucking himself hard on Jon's cock, one hand braced on the center of Jon's ribs.
Jon starts jacking him off hard, hand wet from lube and then Ryan's own precome, his thumb rubbing against the crown. "Fuck," he gasps, and he's coming onto Jon's hand, clenching around Jon's cock hard. He's shaking and swearing, and then he can feel Jon buck up hard and fuck inside him before he's coming.
He lays back down on Jon, their chests sweaty and it's gross, but Ryan doesn't care because he can smell Jon and woodsmoke and he thinks he can hear the faint whisper of the falling snow. He never wants to leave this place.
Ryan might actually say that, and Jon laughs, kissing Ryan's temple before he pulls away Ryan's fogged and crooked glasses. "Only if you promise that we can actually play sexy librarian."
He can't not agree to that, not with the aftershocks of his orgasm still rocking through him. "Did you plan this?" he asks, and he doesn't care.
"Did I plan getting snowed in with you?" Jon whispers, and he laughs, Ryan bouncing a little on his chest. He shifts so he can pull out from Ryan's ass then, and Ryan can feel him starting to try set things right under the blanket. "No, but I can't say I mind. I've wanted this."
He kisses Jon again, and he scrunches his nose up. They're gross, and Marley needs to get out of the bathroom. Ryan doesn't want to talk now though. He wants to lay with Jon for right now until the fire dies, and maybe get wine later. Maybe eat something.
"Shh," he whispers and he kisses Jon. In the morning they can talk, and Ryan will watch Jon cook, and they can dig out a path together, try to find more firewood together. He closes his eyes, and he breathes out a little. Maybe they'll finally get around to dicking around on the guitar.
Or they could just lay out like this, in front of the fire in blankets. In this little shack in the middle of nowhere, Ryan thinks that they can do whatever they want. They have all the time in the world now, and he finally feels like he's home.
Jon/Ryan | NC-17 | ~6.5k
Set about ten years in the future in a cabin in the woods, Jon and Ryan go to unwind before they start up again. Ryan's less than pleased, but that changes quickly. (Futurefic, snowed in)
Written for jain for popoffacork. Thanks to anoneknewmoose for the beta and signsonaves, sinuous_curve, and my stephanometra for their encouragement
The cabin isn't what Ryan's expecting. He remembers the other cabin, the one that they rented almost ten years ago to make a real record, something about a wolf-musical and a hell of a lot of weed. That was a cabin, with comfortable rooms and huge windows to let in cool night breezes and plenty of shade and AC for the hot summer mornings.
This isn't a cabin, he decides, when Jon pulls up in the truck that he'd borrowed from his brother. This is a shack. It's already covered in snow and looks like a good wind would make it tumble into the ether, never to be seen again. There's a little junky boat for it, next to the little rickety pier that lets out onto some chunk of Lake Michigan or Erie or Huron. He fell asleep with Marley pressed against him, and he's not exactly sure where they are now.
Except that Jon has bought a fucking shack, and he expects Ryan to stay there for a few weeks while they destress from touring. They've only brought two guitars each, and Jon's only got one duffle of clothes (Ryan has two, but they have an entire fucking truck bed that's not filled at all.) and Jon told Ryan he was only allowed to bring three tambourines. They've got some food to start them off on the week, hotdogs and marshmellows and some other shit that he threw in last minute because he was hungry and he hopes Jon brought weed.
But even weed can't make the shack look better.
Jon, of course, loves it, slamming the truck door shut, and grinning like it's Christmas. (It's not; it's almost February, which Ryan feels is high time for the snow to have melted.) This was a profoundly stupid idea, and Ryan hopes he was drunk when Jon proposed this. He probably was; on their last night of tour in November, when Jon slung his arm around Ryan's shoulder and said, "Ryan, Ryan, I bought a fucking cabin. We have to stay there after this tour."
Of course, that was November, and Jon had to spend Christmas with his family, and January passed in a blur of parties and snow storms that kept him from flying into Chicago, and then Dylan had a hard couple of weeks and Ryan really thought he would have to fly in because Jon couldn't deal with putting Dylan down.
But Dylan got better, and Jon's parents have him and Clover because a lake-side cabin never doesn't sounds like a good idea for cats.
Why it sounded like a good idea for people is really beside Ryan.
Marley barks when he lands in the snow, bounding around until his coat is peppered, and that is pretty cute, at least.
Ryan gets out, finally, when Jon starts unloading the back, and he grabs one suitcase and his tambourine case (which is just another suitcase, only it's deep green and Ryan feels better pretending that it's an actual instrument case) and goes inside.
It really is a shack. There's a sagging old couch in the middle of the room, with a table in front of it, facing the fireplace. Then there's the smallest kitchen Ryan's seen outside of a tourbus or Brendon's old apartment, with a tiny stove and refrigerator off to the side. There's maybe two or three counters and a sink and three or four cabinets against the wall. He can see a bare pantry behind a half-closed gingham curtain, and there are three doors at the end of a tiny hall. There's a table shoved against a wall with two folding chairs around it.
Jon is grinning when he stands next to Ryan. "Isn't it great?" he says.
Ryan just stares at him. "Is there a heater?"
"Yeah," Jon says, and he points to a giant, dark gray thing in the corner, on the same wall as the "kitchen." "It's going to take a few minutes to kick up once I have it turned on, but we'll have heat."
"Okay," Ryan says, slowly, because he isn't going to have a panic attack on Jon. Spencer and Brendon are off doing some tour-retreat in Maui, and Ryan knows for a fact that Jon was invited, too. He knows because he was there two weeks ago when the weather was finally good enough for Jon to fly into LA for a long weekend, and Spencer mentioned it.
But, of course, Ryan had to be the one to say, "Oh, I think Jon wants to do a cabin thing," as soon as Spencer also mentioned Dallon would be coming along.
Ryan has nothing against Dallon, not really, except that he's one of the guys that replaced him and Jon, so he kind of has to have something against him. It doesn't matter that the split was his idea. All that matters is there was an interview where Spencer called Dallon "one of his best friends" and "one of the best bassists I know."
Ryan didn't know Dallon before the first tour they did with Brendon and Spencer after the split, in 2012. He knew Ian, and he knew Ian was a better guitarist already, so when Brendon called him the best, it only stung a little. Brendon's opinion never mattered as much to Ryan as Spencer's did.
"Your bedroom is on the right," Jon says helpfully, and Ryan makes himself smile and not think about Maui.
The floor creaks when he walks on it, and the carpet is really threadbare. The cabin's still freezing, and he can hear the wind through the windows as he pushes up the door to his bedroom.
The bed, at least, looks nice. The dresser is a piece of crap, and there's only a tiny mirror over it, and there's another curtain over the closet, but the bed has a pretty duvet cover with huge pink and red roses and mounds of fluffy yellow pillows. There is another yellow blanket folded at the end of the bed, and there's a nice picture window over the headboard.
He still hates this little shack, and he still hates that they're not in Hawaii, but he thinks that he could deal with this room.
That is, of course, until he hears Jon laughing and Marley barrels into his room, wet with snow and his tongue hanging out before he pounces on Ryan.
***
He feels better later, when Jon's got the heater running and there's snow falling gently outside. Jon's pulled all the extra blankets into the living room and Marley's dry again. He has his head in Ryan's lap and Ryan feeds him little pieces of hotdog when he thinks Jon's not looking.
Jon's also brought out the beer that Ryan didn't know was already stashed at the cabin. There's easily a full case or so of Coors Light and half a case of Blue Moon, and of course, there's wine. Ryan has a half-empty bottle by his leg, and Jon's in the kitchen making more. He's warmed and a little drunk, enough that he feels warm up into his cheeks and he's smiling at Marley as he feeds him the hotdogs that Jon left out on the table.
There isn't a television, but Jon has a record playing Beach Boys and Ryan has a half dozen books. He could go get his guitar and play music, but there's a dog next to his leg and he's had enough wine that his guitar case feels really far away. He leans back against the couch and starts to hum "The Other Girl." It's been three years since they've played that song, since Ryan decided that he didn't want to be bitter and angry anymore. The last time was on the reunion tour they played with Panic and Brendon's new side-project.
Ryan knows that Jon bought the cabin with the money from that tour and maybe a little bit more of their other money. The band's never done as well as Panic, never really made the rounds in the public eye as much. They have no VMA nominations, and their first album was kind of a flop. They've had a few singles that got enough attention that they can play mid-sized venues and fill them, but they're never going to go for an arena tour unless they open. They have critical success, the way Ryan thinks some poets did. They'll be famous when they're old and dead or not at all.
He doesn't care though, because he's actually happy. He's as happy as he's ever been, and he kind of likes his life. He lives in LA, and he can afford to jet off and see Jon at least twice a month. They have a bus usually.
And then Jon brings in two huge mugs of mulled wine and Ryan knows that he really, really loves his life.
"Have you been feeding him hotdogs?" Jon says, and he leans against Ryan's side, leaning over to drag Marley across both their laps. His words are slurring and he looks flushed. He's probably been helping himself to the wine as he went. "When he's all gassy, he's getting put in your room, Ross."
Jon's not mad, though, and Ryan drinks the mulled wine, listening to the record before the songs run out and then it's just Jon against his side, humming "Change" and his voice sliding into "She Had the World." Ryan laughs and he wants to record Jon and send it to Spencer. His iPhone is in his coat in his room, and if his guitar is too far, then his phone is way, way too far.
Marley makes grumbling sounds when he moves his legs, anyway, and Jon laughs and brushes his hands over the dog. "He's sleepy," he murmurs and he slurps his wine.
The sound makes Ryan laugh, and he closes his eyes a little. His mug is still pretty full, and he knows that he has to do something with the open bottle, but as soon as his eyes are closed he can barely open them again. He presses against Jon a little, and Jon laughs again.
"You are still such a lightweight," he says against Ryan's temple. He takes Ryan's mug, and he knows that Jon's going to be able to drink all of his wine and Ryan's. He wants to call Jon a drunkard, but when he opens his mouth, he's only able to make a soft sound. There are no words.
Marley's completely dead weight over his lap, and it just makes him warmer. He blinks again, once, just enough to see Jon lean forward to put the mug on a table, and then his eyes are closed and he's asleep.
***
Ryan wakes up around noon, and his head is pounding. He's on the couch, his butt stuck in a groove so much that it's impossible to roll over and try to escape the almost blinding light that's coming in the window. It's too quiet in the cabin, enough that he can hear the cabin roof creaking a little and the clacking of the heater. He sighs and sits up, trying to find Jon or Marley.
There's a glass of water and a cup of cold coffee on an end table, and he can't focus enough to grab them. His glasses are in his bedroom and this early, he can't help but wish he was wearing them. There's no one else in the room, and the mugs from last night are gone now.
"Jon?" he murmurs, and he tries to move far enough to see into Jon's bedroom, except the door's closed.
His eyes won't focus, and then the door pushes open. Marley comes in and jumps on him before he can register the cold air on his arms and face. He's tired, and his head is pounding too much. He all can see is the bright, bright white outside the door and then the dark shape of Jon.
"Jon?" he says again, and he frowns.
Jon steps closer, stomping around on the carpet. "So there was a blizzard last night, and it's still really coming down. I've got a path to the truck, but I think we're trapped here for a couple days."
Ryan wants to sleep still, and he can't see. His eyes have gone bad over the years, not to the extent where he needs his glasses all the time. He doesn't like that he needs them anymore than he likes the way his temples have gone gray a little, just at the edges. His hair isn't thinning like Jon's, where he's got a little bare patch starting at the crown and higher and higher peaks at the temples. Ryan thinks it's cute, not that he'd tell Jon.
It's funny the things you like when you're over thirty.
He shakes the idea off and takes the water off the corner table and follows Jon into the kitchen with Marley.
***
He doesn't know how late it is when he wakes up. He has two blankets on and thick wool socks, but he can feel the cold draft coming in his window and the room feels like it's lined with ice, like he's in one of those ice hotels in the middle of nowhere. He sits up, and he thinks that he can see his breath. (He can't, of course, the lights are off, and there's only darkness outside.
Ryan's freezing though. He picks up his phone to see the time. It's almost three in the morning, and he calls Spencer as he slides out of bed. He knows it's earlier there, in Hawaii, where Spencer isn't freezing.
Ryan doesn't know where the hall light switch is, so he stumbles out of the room and into the living room in the dark before Spencer answers, "Hello?" He sounds like he's laughing, and that makes Ryan a little more annoyed. He wishes he was warm and laughing, because he's shivering fast enough for his teeth clack together painfully.
"Spence," he says, and he has to stop to shiver again. "Spence, the heat's out and there is snow up to the windows." He knows that won't impress Spencer who spends at least two weeks a year in Colorado with his grandmother now that his grandpa is gone.
He's right; Spencer starts laughing too loud. "Oh, poor thing," he says. "You want to know how warm it is here? Or how I just got back from surfing?"
"Fuck you," Ryan says sharply. He feels around in the dark, and he only stumbles over two things. He thinks that something hits the ground and shatters, but he doesn't care. "The heat is out."
"Are you sure?" Spencer asks. Ryan can here Brendon laughing in the background, and Sarah talking about something. Ryan wants to say something about how Brendon should marry that girl--just because he knows it pisses Brendon off.
Spencer won't pass on the message because he's a dick. He doesn't like getting in between them picking at each other.
Ryan finds the heater and presses his hand to it. It's cold under his hand. "Spence, the heater's cold," he declares.
"You touched the heater? When you are snowed in and only have Jon to dress your wounds? Do you want to lose your hand?" Spencer sighs. "Look, go sleep with Jon and have him look at the heater in the morning. We're going out to dinner, and I found the hottest girl at the beach today, Ry. I'll send you a picture in the morning."
"You could send it tonight, before I freeze to death," Ryan snaps, but Spencer's already hung up, and Ryan needs his phone to try to light his way back to Jon's room.
He falls on his ass once, but at least Jon's room is a lot neater than Ryan's. He manages to get into the bed with only minor issues, and he cuddles up to Jon's back. He's still shivering, but Jon's blankets are heavier than Ryan's and he has Marley under the blankets. It's a hundred times warmer than the house.
Ryan presses his face against Jon's neck to keep himself warm. He knows the tip of his nose is freezing, but he can't be bothered. Even when Jon starts to stir and rolls over to face him, he just curls into Jon's chest. He can't get warm.
"Ryan?" Jon mumbles, and he touches Ryan's hair before he starts to push at his shoulder. "Ryan?"
He can't imagine moving, and he clings to Jon, curling his fingers around the thermal fabric covering Jon's chest. "The heat's out," he says, and he curls closer. "My window leaks."
Jon shifts. "'s cold," he says, sleep still thick in his voice. "I should go--"
"No, sleeping now," he murmurs, because he is fucking cold and he isn't going to let Jon out of this bed until he's warm.
Jon sighs, and there's a soft rumbling inside Jon's chest and Marley shifts so he's over both Ryan's and Jon's feet. Ryan is still tired and he still has his phone in one hand, but he isn't moving until he's warm.
He's asleep before that.
***
He comes out of Jon's room, and it's still freezing. He has a comforter around his shoulders like a cape. Jon's in front of the fire place with a pile of wood. "The heater's dead," he says, tone flat. "And I can't get this fire started." He has everything piled together, and Ryan can see some of the wood is wet.
"Do you have lighter fluid?" he says, shuffling closer. His feet curl up. The floor feels like it's ice. "Lighter fluid would take care of that."
Jon turns back at him, and Ryan can see the wood he has shoved into the fireplace, so it's full. He can also see the spot of gray that's started on Jon's beard. He thinks it started when Jon became single, years ago, and every year it seems a little bigger. Jon's almost old, Ryan thinks, and it should shake him. Jon's almost old, and if Jon is, then Ryan is.
He keeps shuffling along as Jon says, "If I had lighter fluid, don't you think I'd use it?" he says. He looks grouchy, and he throws up his hands. "We're going to freeze to death. I'm afraid to keep the oven running because it's gas, and if we die here, you are going to blame me until the end."
Ryan laughs softly and sits down next to Jon. He starts pulling out some of the wood, especially the wet pieces. "Go get me a towel and the wine from a couple of nights ago," he says, and he looks at Jon.
Jon has his eyebrows raised. "What are you doing?"
"I was a teenage pyro," he says, and he grins at Jon. "You don't think I never used whiskey to get something started? My dad was my dad." He smiles even though it still hurts to bring up his dad. He's older now than his dad was when he was born, but he wishes his dad was still here to see him be happy.
He isn't quite the teenage pyro he remembers, but he's still able to get the fire started in under a half-hour, enough that the wood is starting to hiss and crackle. Jon and Marley have gone outside to do whatever, and he spends a long time just sitting in front of the fire and letting the heat soak into his bones.
"Ryan?" Jon says, and he comes in with two glasses of wine. He sits down beside Ryan, in front of the fire, handing off one of them. "I didn't think you could do it."
He's shivering still, and he doesn't care too much for the wine that Jon's given him except that he'll feel warmer when he's done with the glass. Jon puts a blanket over their laps and an arm around his shoulders, so they're sitting together in front of the fire. There was a time where Ryan would have pushed the moment and pressed his lips against Jon's to see what would happen.
He feels kind of like the king of the wilderness because he's got Jon by his side and Marley comes over soon after, and they're all warming by the fire. Jon talks about making soup later and maybe trying to get down to the lake, to see if it's frozen over, but he doesn't care. He likes this moment, the way his chest goes tight when Jon strokes a hand against his neck.
Marley burps then, ruining the moment because Jon starts laughing and pushing him away, leaning over Ryan to do it. Ryan doesn't stop himself from laughing either.
***
They go to the lake later, looking for more wood to take into the cabin so it can dry. The lake's not exactly frozen and not exactly thawed, and Ryan doesn't pay much mind to it. He has Marley's leash to keep him from running too far into the water, and Jon has an armful of wood before long. It feels a lot like they're the only ones in the world, huge drifts of snow that have no shoe prints.
Jon points out footprints from rabbits and raccoons, and Ryan nods, listening along as Marley tries to dart after things that neither of them can see. Jon says that he's going to try to go to the store tomorrow morning, in the old truck that's rickety and red, and Ryan kind of pretends that it's the 1930s or something, when this kind of snow would have stopped everything.
He's thinking about that when Marley pulls too hard, and Ryan slips on the ice by the lake. He's pitching forward, and his skin feels like it's burning before he registers the feeling of water on his chest, soaking into his nice coat and into his shoes. Marley's leash leaves his hand, and Jon is shouting for Marley to come back and trying to get Ryan up out of the water.
Marley doesn't go far, of course, trotting back to Jon as soon as Ryan's on dry land. They aren't far from the shack, maybe a five minute walk, but every step feels like someone is stabbing into Ryan's toes and feet. Jon's dropped the wood, and he should tell Jon to go back and get more--but he's shivering too hard to walk straight and he just wants to get back to the cabin.
Jon's the one who keeps him moving, and Jon's mittens are wet against his wool coat, Marley barking at them to keep going, like he knows that they're going to give him food as soon as they walk in the door. He doesn't seem to give two shits that he's wet up to his neck. He's having a grand old time, even though Ryan feels ready to freeze to death.
As soon as they're back at the cabin, Jon's stripping him down like he's trying to get Ryan in bed. It's softer than it probably should be, but Jon's quick. He's stripping the coat off and tossing it against the couch, then Ryan's sweater and his turtleneck and then his courdoroys. He gets Ryan down to his boxers and pushes him against the blankets that are warm by the fire.
He's stripping himself then, and Ryan just kind of stares at Jon. Jon's stomach is starting to go a little flabby from beer and less devotion to working out. He wants to touch Jon there, above the waistband of his boxers, but Jon doesn't give him the time, laying down next to Ryan like he doesn't know that Ryan's almost naked.
"Body heat," Jon whispers, and his mouth is beside Ryan's ear. He shivers and turns next to him, his feet just beginning to burn when the blood comes back into them. He rests them against Jon's leg, and Jon makes a sharp sound.
"Cold," Ryan whispers back. He touches Jon's beard, the gray spot. "I could freeze to death."
Jon laughs and he kisses the tips of Ryan's fingers. "Then I'd have to crawl back to Brendon and Spence. I wouldn't let that happen."
Ryan looks at Jon's mouth, and he leans forward to slant their lips together. Jon's beard is a little over grown and it's scratchy against his mouth, but he's freezing and Jon is so warm. He can't help but curl his hand around Jon's neck and shoulder, pull him closer. Ryan's blood is rushing now, his cock going half hard against Jon's hip, but Jon doesn't mention it. He doesn't stop Ryan from kissing him, but it takes a minute for him to kiss back, to roll Ryan onto his back with his legs bracketing Ryan's.
They kiss and kiss in front of the fire until Ryan can't remember the feeling of the water and their hips are moving together. Jon tries to roll away, but Ryan won't let him, feeding needy sounds into Jon's mouth because he wants this. If there was lube close by, he'd let Jon fuck him here, in front of the fire on the hard floor. His back would ache for days after, but in that moment, it would feel so good. It would be so worth it.
But his stomach growls, and Jon breaks the kiss to laugh. "I think it's time to eat," he murmurs. The only light in the room is the dying fire, and Jon pulls away, going into the bedrooms in his boxers. He gives Ryan one of his sweatshirts, and he kisses Ryan again. "You need socks," he whispers, before he turns on more lamps.
Ryan throws another log on the fire.
***
They sleep in the same bed again, and Ryan wants to stay in a sweatshirt and no pants, but it's way too cold, even if they fall asleep kissing with two pairs of socks on. Jon makes them cocoa and more mulled wine, and it tastes kind of gross together. It's nice though, staying warm before Jon pulls him close and they kiss.
Ryan wakes up before Jon the next day, getting out of bed with Marley. The fire is down to embers, and he grabs a few more logs and a handful of paper, shoving them onto the fire. When it's starting to take, he puts the shield back up and goes into the kitchen. They're down to a few cans of soup and a bag of ready-made pancake mix.
He lets Marley out and checks the back of the package. It sounds like it should be easy, just a little water and a bit of oil. They don't have vegetable oil, so he uses melted margarine because it looks a lot like oil, and he uses the same thing in the pancake pan.
It's a disaster from the start, the kitchen filling with enough smoke to set off fire alarm, and the pancakes smell like ass. He pushes them around in the pan and Marley's barking outside. "Shit," he says softly and he turns off the stove except that his arm bumps the mixing bowl and the bowl falls on the floor, painting the blue and white linoleum floor with weirdly colored pancake batter.
The alarm is still screaming, and Marley start scratching at the door. "Ryan?" Jon calls, from back in the bedroom.
"It's okay!" Ryan calls back, except that it isn't okay because the pancakes are burning now, and Marley is scratching at the door. The fire alarm won't stop screaming. He goes out into the living room to at least get Marley inside the house.
When Jon comes out into the hallway, Ryan wants to go kiss him. His hair is mussed from sleep, and it looks thinner. He looks older, except that he's wrinkling his nose. Wrinkling his nose and looking at Ryan.
"I tried to make pancakes," Ryan says. "You can't go into the kitchen."
Jon narrows his eyes. "Did you make a mess?"
"Maybe," Ryan says. He runs a hand through his hair. "I tried to make them with the mix, and, um."
"We don't have everything for pancakes," Jon murmurs. He makes a face and walks around Ryan to pull open the door, going out into the snow in socked feet to get Marley in the house.
There's definitely something wrong with the batter, because Marley comes into the house and goes straight for the mess on the floor. He looks at it, sniffs it, and then he bounds back to Jon with his tongue hanging out.
Ryan grabs the fire poker and uses it to turn off the alarm, finally, and Jon looks at him. He's trying not to smile, and his eyes are bright. "I guess I need to try to get to the store today," he says, and he comes closer to Ryan with Marley around their legs.
He smiles softly, and his face is hot. The door's open behind them, cold air rushing around and prickling the back of Ryan's neck. Jon kisses him, though, and he feels stupid for leaning into it, tipping his head down. "It's snowing," he murmurs. "You shouldn't go."
"We need food," Jon says, and he scrapes his teeth over Ryan's lip. "We need food and other stuff."
Ryan makes a soft sound, and Jon pulls back. "I mean, we're snowed in. What else are we going to do?"
He grins and kisses Jon again. "You should hurry back."
***
He helps Jon dig out the truck and throw salt and sand over the driveway until he can get out onto the road. He stays with Marley while Jon goes out, curled up on the couch with the fire going. The pancake batter is cleaned up, and he sits with a book Spencer got him for Christmas, an anthology of a shit ton of early detective fiction and he barely notices when the sky goes dark.
It's only when Marley starts whimpering to go outside that he realizes that it's late, that the snow is falling faster and Jon isn't back. He tries to call him as he puts Marley on the chain. The metal sticks to his skin, but he won't let Marley get lost in a storm. Jon would never forgive him.
There's huge flakes and the snow is thicker than he remembers it being.
Ryan goes into the cabin to try to call Jon again, but he can't get service. He throws another log on the fire. He can't call Spencer either, and he can't text anyone. He paces in the cabin, looking out the few windows to look for the truck's headlights. He should be hungry because there's no food but soup, but he's not. His stomach is turning.
He doesn't know what to do. It's not about the band. He knows that he needs Jon; he needs Jon maybe more than he needs Spencer. It's weird to think about it like that, but it's the truth. He doesn't know what he'd do if he had to restart without Jon. He doesn't want to go back to making songs by himself. He knows more about instruments.
Marley starts barking again, and that makes Ryan feel worse. If Jon's stuck somewhere, he's going to have to take Marley at least, maybe Dylan and Clover. He doesn't want to think what he'd do with cats; he'd probably get a moving comb litterbox thing, but it wouldn't be enough. He'd forget and then the cats would go next. The cats would freak.
Dylan would die.
Ryan wants to throw up as he pushes open the door again, calling for Marley in the howling wind. He can't see Marley, even when he pulls on the cord to try and get him back to the house. Ryan's hands burn from the wind and the cold, and it's too dark to see if Marley's coming.
Ryan tries to shove his glasses up, so he can see distance better. It doesn't matter though, not in the dark.
Except when Marley finally comes bounding inside covered in snow and barking happily like he's done something great, Ryan sees the headlights of the truck and he stands in the doorway. He doesn't cry because he's not a girl, but when Jon gets out of the truck with his two bags of food, he launches himself at him. He doesn't care that he's only wearing socks and the snow melts under his feet, up into his pajama pants.
He kisses Jon's cold mouth, with snow around their lips and their noses cold against each other, and Jon laughs something into Ryan's mouth but he doesn't care. He stumbles back to the house on burning feet with Marley's chain in hand and Jon's hand on his side with a bag of groceries heavy with cans banging against his thigh.
"We need to get you warmed," he says when Jon has the door closed and latched. He pushes at Jon's coat, and his hands sting from the cold snow.
"Sorry," Jon says, and he bites Ryan's lip before he pulls away. "I got lost coming back, in the snow, and then it was dark--"
Ryan kisses him to shut him up. "You need to get warm," he says again, and he pushes Jon's shirt up, so he can touch the soft roll of Jon's stomach, the line of hair sneaking out from his boxers. "Body heat."
This time Jon gets it, and he takes Ryan's hands away. "Let me get Marley in the bathroom," he says, and he drops the groceries beside Ryan. He kisses Ryan's jaw, then bites his throat and collarbone. "You need go get nude, too, Ross. One-way body heat sucks."
He laughs, but his feet are freezing in his wet socks and his pants are wet. He pushes them down and gets naked as fast as he can. He knows he should savor this, but he mostly doesn't care. It's Jon. He knows that they'll fuck slow and wonderful and like in the movies, because Jon lives his life like he's a character from a fucking Christmas movie most days.
Tonight though, tonight he wants it quick, like this is how they're going to stay warm. Jon shucks off his shoes and his scarf, and he's mostly naked when he leans down next Ryan and grabs lube and condoms out of the grocery bag. He doesn't waste time with flowery words, kissing Ryan again, so they're stumbling back to the blanket nest that they have going beside the fire.
He takes the lube while Jon says something like, "I didn't know what size condom you use," like it matters right now because they're kissing with their cocks trapped between them. He gets his hand sticky with lube and passes it off to Jon. Pushing his cold fingers into his body feels weird for a moment, but it's a good weird, like something he might want to try later, when they're back to civilization.
Jon laughs then and he breaks the kiss to bump his nose against Ryan's glasses, where they're starting to fall out of Ryan's hair. He'd forgotten about them, and now his hands are too sticky to pull them off. He groans a little when he gets his fingers just where he likes them, and he means to ask Jon to take them off, to put them aside.
"I think this is kind of hot," Jon whispers, and he slides Ryan's glasses into place, so Ryan can see his face better, the glints of firelight in his beard. "Sexy librarian or something."
His hand circles around Ryan's cock then, giving it a dry tug before he's fumbling with the lube. He's already wearing a condom. Ryan can feel the smoothness of the latex against his own skin when Jon starts working lube over both of them, and his glasses are fogging from both of their breathing.
Ryan has three fingers inside of himself, and he kisses Jon. "You know we're going to need a shower, and we have no hot water," he whispers.
"I'll keep you warm, Ross," Jon says, and then he shifts, so he's not touching their cocks now. His fingers are brushing over Ryan's fingers, against his hole. "Let me fuck you, Ryan. You're ready, right? I've wanted this."
He kisses Jon and pulls his fingers away, so Jon can push into him. He lays against Jon, his cock caught between their stomachs. It's faster than he would have thought, and they're moving together.
"Ryan, sit up," Jon whispers, "Ride me, please, fuck." Jon's voice is scraping against his throat, and Ryan can't say no. He doesn't know how this is going to keep them warm, but he eases up and starts fucking himself hard on Jon's cock, one hand braced on the center of Jon's ribs.
Jon starts jacking him off hard, hand wet from lube and then Ryan's own precome, his thumb rubbing against the crown. "Fuck," he gasps, and he's coming onto Jon's hand, clenching around Jon's cock hard. He's shaking and swearing, and then he can feel Jon buck up hard and fuck inside him before he's coming.
He lays back down on Jon, their chests sweaty and it's gross, but Ryan doesn't care because he can smell Jon and woodsmoke and he thinks he can hear the faint whisper of the falling snow. He never wants to leave this place.
Ryan might actually say that, and Jon laughs, kissing Ryan's temple before he pulls away Ryan's fogged and crooked glasses. "Only if you promise that we can actually play sexy librarian."
He can't not agree to that, not with the aftershocks of his orgasm still rocking through him. "Did you plan this?" he asks, and he doesn't care.
"Did I plan getting snowed in with you?" Jon whispers, and he laughs, Ryan bouncing a little on his chest. He shifts so he can pull out from Ryan's ass then, and Ryan can feel him starting to try set things right under the blanket. "No, but I can't say I mind. I've wanted this."
He kisses Jon again, and he scrunches his nose up. They're gross, and Marley needs to get out of the bathroom. Ryan doesn't want to talk now though. He wants to lay with Jon for right now until the fire dies, and maybe get wine later. Maybe eat something.
"Shh," he whispers and he kisses Jon. In the morning they can talk, and Ryan will watch Jon cook, and they can dig out a path together, try to find more firewood together. He closes his eyes, and he breathes out a little. Maybe they'll finally get around to dicking around on the guitar.
Or they could just lay out like this, in front of the fire in blankets. In this little shack in the middle of nowhere, Ryan thinks that they can do whatever they want. They have all the time in the world now, and he finally feels like he's home.