All I Want (For Christmas)
Title: All I Want (For Christmas)
Pairing: Chanyeol/Jongin
Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluffy fluff
Disclaimer: I own nothing, written just for fun.
Summary: Jongin gets the sniffles in the snow. (This is dumb, dumb, dumb Chankai fluff, plus bonus Baekxing crack, I'm sorry.)
A/N:s For the wonderful Far, who asked for sniffles~ Merry Christmas, chankaidoe! Love you, soul sister! <3
Chanyeol’s nose is cold, just the very tip of it. The rest of him is rather sweaty under his padded parka, and he squirms inside his heavy layers of clothes. The ground beneath him, or the snowbank rather, is probably cold too, but Chanyeol can’t feel it thanks to his high quality down filled coat and his high quality boyfriend who is straddling his hips.
“You are heavy, but I love you,” Chanyeol mumbles, because maybe his lips are a little cold, too. They’ve been playing in the snow since Jongin dragged him out the front door at the crack of noon. 37 snow angels, a snow bear, a snow robot, and a vicious snowball fight later, Chanyeol is on his back panting for breath. He’s so exhausted he can’t even move. Or maybe that’s because his lovable, yet heavy, favorite person Jongin is sitting on him.
“I bet you’re heavier,” Jongin snorts, and Chanyeol leans up to peck his lips before this turns into an argument over who’s taller. (For the record, it’s definitely Chanyeol, even Joonmyun hyung agrees).
“Can we go inside now?” Chanyeol asks, squeezing his hands into fists. His mittens are soaked, and he wants to go change them. “Also, food! Food is good, and all our food is inside!”
“But we just got out here,” Jongin says, his sleepy gaze widening in surprise. “Are you tired already?”
“Maybe,” Chanyeol says, and squirms again. Jongin is really pretty with fine snow misting his eyelashes, and the way his nose scrunches and his shoulders hunch into a sharp shiver is adorable, but Jongin is getting heavy and Chanyeol wants pancakes.
“We need to work on your stamina, then,” Jongin purrs with a curling smile. Chanyeol rolls his eyes with a laugh, yanking Jongin’s wandering fingers away from his waistband.
“That is definitely not happening out here, so can we please go inside?”
“Bu--ahchoo!” Jongin explodes in a sudden sneeze, thankfully spraying the snow next to Chanyeol’s head and not his face. He is really shivering now, soft boned tremors punctuated with violent shudders.
“Come on, let’s get you in!” Chanyeol eases Jongin off his lap, floundering a bit as he struggles to sit up. “Your mom will kill me if I bring you home for Christmas with the flu!”
“I’m not a baby, Chanyeol,” Jongin rolls his eyes and pouts. Chanyeol tweaks his cheeks and yanks the giant hood of Jongin’s coat over his head until there’s only a black abyss where his face used to be.
Cute, so cute. Chanyeol just wants to squish his face, or like, squish his hood, because currently his face is invisible.
He looks like the Alaskan Ghost of Christmas Future, or maybe the Headless Horseman on a ski trip, but on Jongin the look is adorable rather than terrifying. Chanyeol grabs Jongin’s gloved hand in his own soggy mitten and tugs him to the front door, guiding him through the maze of snow creations decorating their yard.
“Are you making pancakes?” Jongin asks, and his voice sounds all muffled inside his hood.
“Sure,” Chanyeol says, dropping one of Jongin’s hands to twist the door handle, “just as soon as--oh shit.”
“What?” Jongin’s voice is still muffled, but the alarm is his tone is palpable and his grip tightens painfully around Chanyeol’s wrist. “Did someone break in? Did the star fall off our Christmas tree? Oh god, the dogs! Are--”
“Everything’s fine!” Chanyeol says extra loudly, to make sure Jongin can hear him. The boom of his voice startles a squirrel in the nearest pine tree who chatters angrily at the disturbance and sends an avalanche of snow raining down on Chanyeol’s beanie. “Just--” Chanyeol pauses to spit a mouthful of snow and pine needles, “the door is locked and I don’t have a key?”
“Oh,” Jongin says.
“Do you have one, Jonginnie?”
“No,” Jongin snorts, his thickly padded shoulders shivering with laughter, “we’re both in our pajamas!”
Right. No pockets. And Yura confiscated the spare from under the doormat the last time she visited, scolding Chanyeol about being “too naive” and “obvious”.
“Thanks, sis,” Chanyeol mutters to himself, twisting harder at the doorknob even though he knows it’s no use. This isn’t the first time they’ve locked themselves out; last time, he had to break the window above the garage with the neighbor kid’s jump rope handles and crawl into the opening from their pine tree. That was when they decided to keep an extra key under their doormat, which worked out quite well til Yura found out about it.
“Can you just call Xing hyung already,” Jongin’s hood mumbles. “I’m hungry.”
“Fine,” Chanyeol sighs, wincing in dread as he pulls out his phone to dial their neighbors. He grits his teeth through the call waiting song, some kind of impressionist saxophone solo that reminds him of asthmatic whales.
“Hello,” says a sleepy voice, and Chanyeol lets out a huff of relief. Truth be told, it’s not Yixing he’s afraid of but his husband and neighborhood busybody, Byun Baekhyun.
“O Hyung, my favorite hyung among hyungs!” Chanyeol exclaims in his friendliest, least annoying (he hopes) voice, “how are you this fine afternoon?”
“Cozy,” Yixing says through a yawn. “Baekhyunnie, say hello! Our neighbors are on the line.”
Chanyeol hears some rustling, probably of bedsheets, and then a lazy grunt that could possibly be interpreted as a greeting, if you blink twice and hang upside down by your elbows.
“H’llo, Baekhyun-ah!” Chanyeol singsongs back. “Hey Hyung, we got a problem,” he continues to Yixing, pausing when Jongin pitches forward with the force of another violent sneeze and almost faceplants into the fake poinsettia bushes Yura regifted them last Christmas.
“Is it your plumbing again,” Yixing says, “because maybe you should hire a professional this time.”
“No, no, this is a much simpler request than that!” Chanyeol chuckles sheepishly. “Could you bring our spare key over? We, uh, locked the door and, uh--”
“Yeah, ok,” Yixing says, and Chanyeol can’t finish thanking him profusely before the line cuts and Yixing bursts out of his front door, clad in pink and orange plaid pajama bottoms and flip flops with a thin zip up hoodie thrown on over his shoulders.
“You’re in pajamas,” Chanyeol gasps as Yixing takes a shortcut down the shallow slope dividing their yards, wading through a snowbank halfway up his calves.
“So are we,” Jongin sniffles, and Chanyeol yanks down the hood of his parka, kissing away his next pitiful sneeze. He just can’t stand hearing his boyfriend sound so miserable, and he’s really feeling guilty about forgetting the keys, no matter that Jongin is the one who dragged him outside half dressed earlier.
“This is how you reward me for being a good friend and upstanding citizen?” Yixing drawls as he trips up their front steps. “With nauseating displays of pubescent affection?”
“Thanks, Hyung! Hurry up please,” Chanyeol says, motioning frantically to their doorknob as Yixing twirls a ring of keys on his index finger.
“Xing Xing!”
All three of them turn to stare in the direction of Yixing’s house, where Baekhyun is hanging out of the second story bedroom window half naked. “If you get sick, I will punch you! So you better zip up your jacket, right now!”
“Yes, mother,” Yixing mutters, and fumbles for his zipper. “Anything for you.”
“I heard that!” Baekhyun hollers, casting one more glare across the trio huddled on the front step before slamming down his window.
“Real men don’t get cold,” Yixing announces to the squirrel in the tree as he unlocks the door.
“Thanks again, Hyung! You da best!” Chanyeol calls after him as Yixing trudges back up the hill, the kick of his sandals lifting a glittering spray of snow.
Jongin sneezes again and trips over the threshold as Chanyeol bundles him into the house and onto the sofa. Chanyeol burns more of the pancakes than he stacks on the serving platter, because he keeps dashing between the kitchen and living room to check on Jongin.
“I’m fine, Hyung, go watch the stove,” he finally grumbles on Chanyeol’s fifth trip to the couch to ask if Jongin needs a hot cocoa refill. “I’m fine, just hungry.”
“Oh fuck it,” Chanyeol sighs as the smoke detector goes off a second time, and sprints down the hall to remove the batteries. He drops by the kitchen to turn the stove burners off and chuck the charred contents of the skillet in the sink. He’ll worry about the dishes later. For now, he has a sniffly boyfriend to coddle back to health.
“Where’s my food?” Jongin asks when Chanyeol returns empty handed. He flails like a lethargic octopus as he tries to sit up from his pile of blankets and plushies, where he’s bundled on the sofa next to the Christmas tree.
“Uh, how do you feel about ordering pizza?” Chanyeol flops down beside him, burrowing his toes into a fold of the electric blanket as he draws Jongin into the tight circle of his arms.
“Like it was meant to be,” Jongin coughs, tugging at the scarf wound around his neck. Chanyeol insisted he wear it, even inside, to protect him from drafts.
“Mm, you smell good.” He snuggles into Chanyeol, their fuzzy socked feet tangling as he presses his face into his boyfriend’s neck.
“Like burnt hotcakes?” Chanyeol laughs.
“No, like cinnamon,” Jongin hums against his throat. “Now hurry up and order before I get so hungry I eat you instead!”
“You could do that while we wait,” Chanyeol suggests darkly in Jongin’s ear, then yelps when he gets punched.
Jongin is half asleep by the time their pepperoni pizzas with extra cheese and sweet potato filled crusts are finally ordered, and Chanyeol tucks the nest of blankets securely around them. He feels terrible that Jongin’s sick right before the holidays, and he wasn’t completely joking when he said Jongin’s mom, or his noonas--or all three of them, now that’s a terrifying thought--might serve his head for Christmas dinner on a silver platter, but he is enjoying the chance to just sit and cuddle together on their sofa.
Monggu is keeping Jongin’s feet warm at the end of the couch, and Janggu is curled up on Jongin’s shoulder, head against Chanyeol’s chest. The soft blink of the colored lights on their tree remind Chanyeol of Christmas cookie sprinkles as they dance across the walls and carpeting of the room.
“Sing me a song?” Jongin asks, his voice all groggy. He stretches his arms above his head and clasps his hands behind Chanyeol’s neck.
“What do you want to hear?” Chanyeol whispers, brushing his lips in reverent worship along the curve of Jongin’s pretty pink ear.
“Anything,” Jongin says, “as long as it isn’t about food.” Chanyeol chuckles, but Jongin pinches his neck. “Seriously, anything. I just want to hear your voice, so please?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Chanyeol hums, and brushes Jongin’s thick fringe back from the slope of his brow as he starts to sing. ♫ “I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…!” ♪
Pairing: Chanyeol/Jongin
Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluffy fluff
Disclaimer: I own nothing, written just for fun.
Summary: Jongin gets the sniffles in the snow. (This is dumb, dumb, dumb Chankai fluff, plus bonus Baekxing crack, I'm sorry.)
A/N:s For the wonderful Far, who asked for sniffles~ Merry Christmas, chankaidoe! Love you, soul sister! <3
Chanyeol’s nose is cold, just the very tip of it. The rest of him is rather sweaty under his padded parka, and he squirms inside his heavy layers of clothes. The ground beneath him, or the snowbank rather, is probably cold too, but Chanyeol can’t feel it thanks to his high quality down filled coat and his high quality boyfriend who is straddling his hips.
“You are heavy, but I love you,” Chanyeol mumbles, because maybe his lips are a little cold, too. They’ve been playing in the snow since Jongin dragged him out the front door at the crack of noon. 37 snow angels, a snow bear, a snow robot, and a vicious snowball fight later, Chanyeol is on his back panting for breath. He’s so exhausted he can’t even move. Or maybe that’s because his lovable, yet heavy, favorite person Jongin is sitting on him.
“I bet you’re heavier,” Jongin snorts, and Chanyeol leans up to peck his lips before this turns into an argument over who’s taller. (For the record, it’s definitely Chanyeol, even Joonmyun hyung agrees).
“Can we go inside now?” Chanyeol asks, squeezing his hands into fists. His mittens are soaked, and he wants to go change them. “Also, food! Food is good, and all our food is inside!”
“But we just got out here,” Jongin says, his sleepy gaze widening in surprise. “Are you tired already?”
“Maybe,” Chanyeol says, and squirms again. Jongin is really pretty with fine snow misting his eyelashes, and the way his nose scrunches and his shoulders hunch into a sharp shiver is adorable, but Jongin is getting heavy and Chanyeol wants pancakes.
“We need to work on your stamina, then,” Jongin purrs with a curling smile. Chanyeol rolls his eyes with a laugh, yanking Jongin’s wandering fingers away from his waistband.
“That is definitely not happening out here, so can we please go inside?”
“Bu--ahchoo!” Jongin explodes in a sudden sneeze, thankfully spraying the snow next to Chanyeol’s head and not his face. He is really shivering now, soft boned tremors punctuated with violent shudders.
“Come on, let’s get you in!” Chanyeol eases Jongin off his lap, floundering a bit as he struggles to sit up. “Your mom will kill me if I bring you home for Christmas with the flu!”
“I’m not a baby, Chanyeol,” Jongin rolls his eyes and pouts. Chanyeol tweaks his cheeks and yanks the giant hood of Jongin’s coat over his head until there’s only a black abyss where his face used to be.
Cute, so cute. Chanyeol just wants to squish his face, or like, squish his hood, because currently his face is invisible.
He looks like the Alaskan Ghost of Christmas Future, or maybe the Headless Horseman on a ski trip, but on Jongin the look is adorable rather than terrifying. Chanyeol grabs Jongin’s gloved hand in his own soggy mitten and tugs him to the front door, guiding him through the maze of snow creations decorating their yard.
“Are you making pancakes?” Jongin asks, and his voice sounds all muffled inside his hood.
“Sure,” Chanyeol says, dropping one of Jongin’s hands to twist the door handle, “just as soon as--oh shit.”
“What?” Jongin’s voice is still muffled, but the alarm is his tone is palpable and his grip tightens painfully around Chanyeol’s wrist. “Did someone break in? Did the star fall off our Christmas tree? Oh god, the dogs! Are--”
“Everything’s fine!” Chanyeol says extra loudly, to make sure Jongin can hear him. The boom of his voice startles a squirrel in the nearest pine tree who chatters angrily at the disturbance and sends an avalanche of snow raining down on Chanyeol’s beanie. “Just--” Chanyeol pauses to spit a mouthful of snow and pine needles, “the door is locked and I don’t have a key?”
“Oh,” Jongin says.
“Do you have one, Jonginnie?”
“No,” Jongin snorts, his thickly padded shoulders shivering with laughter, “we’re both in our pajamas!”
Right. No pockets. And Yura confiscated the spare from under the doormat the last time she visited, scolding Chanyeol about being “too naive” and “obvious”.
“Thanks, sis,” Chanyeol mutters to himself, twisting harder at the doorknob even though he knows it’s no use. This isn’t the first time they’ve locked themselves out; last time, he had to break the window above the garage with the neighbor kid’s jump rope handles and crawl into the opening from their pine tree. That was when they decided to keep an extra key under their doormat, which worked out quite well til Yura found out about it.
“Can you just call Xing hyung already,” Jongin’s hood mumbles. “I’m hungry.”
“Fine,” Chanyeol sighs, wincing in dread as he pulls out his phone to dial their neighbors. He grits his teeth through the call waiting song, some kind of impressionist saxophone solo that reminds him of asthmatic whales.
“Hello,” says a sleepy voice, and Chanyeol lets out a huff of relief. Truth be told, it’s not Yixing he’s afraid of but his husband and neighborhood busybody, Byun Baekhyun.
“O Hyung, my favorite hyung among hyungs!” Chanyeol exclaims in his friendliest, least annoying (he hopes) voice, “how are you this fine afternoon?”
“Cozy,” Yixing says through a yawn. “Baekhyunnie, say hello! Our neighbors are on the line.”
Chanyeol hears some rustling, probably of bedsheets, and then a lazy grunt that could possibly be interpreted as a greeting, if you blink twice and hang upside down by your elbows.
“H’llo, Baekhyun-ah!” Chanyeol singsongs back. “Hey Hyung, we got a problem,” he continues to Yixing, pausing when Jongin pitches forward with the force of another violent sneeze and almost faceplants into the fake poinsettia bushes Yura regifted them last Christmas.
“Is it your plumbing again,” Yixing says, “because maybe you should hire a professional this time.”
“No, no, this is a much simpler request than that!” Chanyeol chuckles sheepishly. “Could you bring our spare key over? We, uh, locked the door and, uh--”
“Yeah, ok,” Yixing says, and Chanyeol can’t finish thanking him profusely before the line cuts and Yixing bursts out of his front door, clad in pink and orange plaid pajama bottoms and flip flops with a thin zip up hoodie thrown on over his shoulders.
“You’re in pajamas,” Chanyeol gasps as Yixing takes a shortcut down the shallow slope dividing their yards, wading through a snowbank halfway up his calves.
“So are we,” Jongin sniffles, and Chanyeol yanks down the hood of his parka, kissing away his next pitiful sneeze. He just can’t stand hearing his boyfriend sound so miserable, and he’s really feeling guilty about forgetting the keys, no matter that Jongin is the one who dragged him outside half dressed earlier.
“This is how you reward me for being a good friend and upstanding citizen?” Yixing drawls as he trips up their front steps. “With nauseating displays of pubescent affection?”
“Thanks, Hyung! Hurry up please,” Chanyeol says, motioning frantically to their doorknob as Yixing twirls a ring of keys on his index finger.
“Xing Xing!”
All three of them turn to stare in the direction of Yixing’s house, where Baekhyun is hanging out of the second story bedroom window half naked. “If you get sick, I will punch you! So you better zip up your jacket, right now!”
“Yes, mother,” Yixing mutters, and fumbles for his zipper. “Anything for you.”
“I heard that!” Baekhyun hollers, casting one more glare across the trio huddled on the front step before slamming down his window.
“Real men don’t get cold,” Yixing announces to the squirrel in the tree as he unlocks the door.
“Thanks again, Hyung! You da best!” Chanyeol calls after him as Yixing trudges back up the hill, the kick of his sandals lifting a glittering spray of snow.
Jongin sneezes again and trips over the threshold as Chanyeol bundles him into the house and onto the sofa. Chanyeol burns more of the pancakes than he stacks on the serving platter, because he keeps dashing between the kitchen and living room to check on Jongin.
“I’m fine, Hyung, go watch the stove,” he finally grumbles on Chanyeol’s fifth trip to the couch to ask if Jongin needs a hot cocoa refill. “I’m fine, just hungry.”
“Oh fuck it,” Chanyeol sighs as the smoke detector goes off a second time, and sprints down the hall to remove the batteries. He drops by the kitchen to turn the stove burners off and chuck the charred contents of the skillet in the sink. He’ll worry about the dishes later. For now, he has a sniffly boyfriend to coddle back to health.
“Where’s my food?” Jongin asks when Chanyeol returns empty handed. He flails like a lethargic octopus as he tries to sit up from his pile of blankets and plushies, where he’s bundled on the sofa next to the Christmas tree.
“Uh, how do you feel about ordering pizza?” Chanyeol flops down beside him, burrowing his toes into a fold of the electric blanket as he draws Jongin into the tight circle of his arms.
“Like it was meant to be,” Jongin coughs, tugging at the scarf wound around his neck. Chanyeol insisted he wear it, even inside, to protect him from drafts.
“Mm, you smell good.” He snuggles into Chanyeol, their fuzzy socked feet tangling as he presses his face into his boyfriend’s neck.
“Like burnt hotcakes?” Chanyeol laughs.
“No, like cinnamon,” Jongin hums against his throat. “Now hurry up and order before I get so hungry I eat you instead!”
“You could do that while we wait,” Chanyeol suggests darkly in Jongin’s ear, then yelps when he gets punched.
Jongin is half asleep by the time their pepperoni pizzas with extra cheese and sweet potato filled crusts are finally ordered, and Chanyeol tucks the nest of blankets securely around them. He feels terrible that Jongin’s sick right before the holidays, and he wasn’t completely joking when he said Jongin’s mom, or his noonas--or all three of them, now that’s a terrifying thought--might serve his head for Christmas dinner on a silver platter, but he is enjoying the chance to just sit and cuddle together on their sofa.
Monggu is keeping Jongin’s feet warm at the end of the couch, and Janggu is curled up on Jongin’s shoulder, head against Chanyeol’s chest. The soft blink of the colored lights on their tree remind Chanyeol of Christmas cookie sprinkles as they dance across the walls and carpeting of the room.
“Sing me a song?” Jongin asks, his voice all groggy. He stretches his arms above his head and clasps his hands behind Chanyeol’s neck.
“What do you want to hear?” Chanyeol whispers, brushing his lips in reverent worship along the curve of Jongin’s pretty pink ear.
“Anything,” Jongin says, “as long as it isn’t about food.” Chanyeol chuckles, but Jongin pinches his neck. “Seriously, anything. I just want to hear your voice, so please?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Chanyeol hums, and brushes Jongin’s thick fringe back from the slope of his brow as he starts to sing. ♫ “I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…!” ♪