Christmas Cookies and Holiday Hearts
Title: Christmas Cookies and Holiday Hearts (got the title from a song)
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Pairing: Some nice Murderface/Pickles.
Summary: Pickles sees a Klokateer carrying a box of ornaments.
Notes: Started this after Dethmas aired, but didn't finish it til just now. Written in present tense.
Christmas Cookies and Holiday Hearts
It's 2 a.m. and Pickles is well into drinking himself into the traditional Christmas stupor. His aim is to wake up with a traditional Christmas hangover, and ignore his present from Toki for a few days until he opens it out of sheer curiosity and thanks him in that "Wow, Grandma, what a nice scarf!" way. He's watching a porno, which he's getting bored of already.
He gets up to go to the bathroom. The halls are winding. Actually, with a house so big, there should probably be more of the things, but he's not to the pissing and puking all over himself stage, so he makes it back to his own room, his own bathroom. There is nothing more sacred to a man than his bathroom. That's something his dad always used to say, but it's one of the few beliefs he's come to agree with him on. Pickles, like his father he doesn't like to think about, likes to hold onto his privacy so tightly sometimes that, well, it becomes all that matters, and fuck the rest of the world, like a million tiny hands are trying to strangle him, holding him down.
But tonight, he just feels lonely.
On his way to the bathroom, he spots a Klokateer with some Christmas lights and a box of ornaments. Looking both ways, he decides to follow him to Toki's room. Maybe a little Christmas cheer is what he needs. He'd expect Toki to be asleep by now, actually, like the poem, dreaming of sugarplums and other, well, gay things. He doesn't really even care if the Klokateer spots him following, seeing as it's his house anyway.
But the Klokateer does not turn toward Toki's room. Pickles scratches his head. Okay, there are a couple ways to Toki's room, actually, but the shortest and best would have meant taking a right where the man in the hood had clearly not made any turns at all, and...well, it's confusing.
Curiosity piqued, Pickles is beginning to think that the Klokateer is not headed for Toki's room at all.
At one point the man stops and turns toward Pickles questioningly. "My lord?"
Pickles waves him forward. He's not going to ask; asking is caring. But he will spy.
They walk down winding stone hallways, the Klokateer stepping a little more carefully, nervous to be so scrutinized. Pickles doesn't care if he drops the whole box ten times and smashes every ornament, as long as he delivers it. Maybe this little adventure is what he needs.
They pass Skwisgaar's room, and that means there are only two candidates left by the time the Klokateer makes the final turn, in front of....
Oh. Okay, actually, that makes sense.
Pickles doubles back and hides around the corner, waiting until he hears Murderface thank the guy. God, does he have to sound so cheery?
Pickles sneaks out around the corner and stands in front of the imposing door, considering. Eh, why not? He's already here. And Murderface does have a bathroom. He knocks.
The door opens slightly. "Yeah, jescht bring it on in." Murderface's back is to the door. He approaches a misplaced-looking but pretty Christmas tree, which Murderface has started wrapping lights around.
"Expectin' semone else, huh?"
William Murderface turns around, surprised. He has a ball ornament in one hand and a piece of garland around his neck like a scarf. "Picklesch! What'ch are you doing here'ch?"
"I need to use your bathroom." Pickles carefully steps over garland and ornaments and makes his way to Murderface's bathroom, where he relieves himself. When he leaves the bathroom, he sees the lights are up, and also witnesses a pair of Klokateers dropping off an entire table of sugar cookies and cookie decorations. His mouth opens slightly. That is...a lot of sugar.
"You don't get a cookie'ch, Picklesch." Murderface points a finger at him. "You all said the idea'ch was stupid! Well who's laughing now? Ha!"
Pickles takes a look at the table, then over at the tree again, before eyeing the garland around Murderface's neck. "Ferst of all, I'm jest gonna preface this bah sayin' that this is nat Mehtal. We both know theat. But, on top of that, need some help with this tree?"
"If you'ch think that'll get you a cookie-" Murderface starts.
"I'm jest bored."
The expression softens. "Okay. Help me get thesche on the tree."
Pickles starts helping him decorate the tree. It's nice and big, with beautiful branches, and it smells like old memories he wishes he didn't have. Murderface turns on the radio, and Pickles turns his face away from the tree. He remembers when his mom used to listen to him over Seth every once in a while. When they used to bake cookies together and decorate the tree, while Seth couldn't be bothered.
Murderface is singing along to the Christmas music, when he takes in Pickles's body language. "Rescht ye merry gentleman let nothing you dischm-whoa, you okay?" He puts a hand on Pickles's shoulder, pulling the redhead back into reality.
"I feckin' hate Chreestmas," he blurts out.
Murderface looks at his face. He has that little boy expression on. Murderface, feeling generous, throws his arms around his pal. Pickles stiffens, then relaxes into the embrace. A pointy wire ornament hanger is poking into his shoulder through his shirt, but he barely notices. "I didn't alwees," he murmurs.
"At schome point...you gotta let go of the pascht...just truscht me."
"I feckin' hate it," he repeats, quietly.
"You gonna let them di'ch'tate how you'ch schpend your holidaysch? Bet they'd fuckin' love that."
Pickles straightens up a bit. "Dood, ye're poking me."
"Huh? But I'm not even tousching you-oo. Oh, of coursche!" He pulls the ornament away from Pickles, pulling back, looking at him.
"Be careful. Dose things...'re sharp." Pickles's lip wobbles.
Murderface tosses the ornament aside, where it crashes out of view. "Picklesch, we're fixing Christmasch for you. We'll do everything, only better."
"Nooo. No. That's stupehd."
"It'sch fucking not! Otherwiche," he says, "otherwiche, they...win!"
Pickles blinks, then sighs. "Let 'em."
"No! No. That'sch. No. You're now my Christmasch mira'ch'le. We're gonna fix thisch."
Pickles's wobbly lip curls a bit into a little half smile. "Yeh don' know what no means. Do ya?"
"N...Yesch." Murderface grins broadly.
"This is a dumb idea." Pickles is smiling, just barely.
***
Pickles is slathering a vast amount of black frosting onto a cookie shaped like a tree, and he really seems to be enjoying himself. Pausing in his trimming of his own green frosting cookie tree by meticulously placing sprinkles, Murderface watches as Pickles makes red blobs that are supposed to either be ornaments or drops of blood or, maybe, both.
"Hey, good job, Picklesch."
"Theenks!" The smile on his face is sweet and full of the fucking Christmas spirit, and it reminds Murderface of the impressively green color of the drummer's eyes.
Murderface shoves the cookie he's been making into his mouth on impulse and takes a bite. He moves over toward his bed, the cookie dropping crumbs both from his chin and from his hand, where most of it still is is. There's a small wooden box on the bed that he struggles to open with his free hand, and when he finally manages, he dumps the contents of it onto the bed.
"What're ya dooin'?" Pickles asks, putting the gel icing down and moving toward the bed as well. "Oooo!" he says. He smiles again.
There's a little wooden rocking horse one, a wooden rifle painted black, some lacy knitted snowflakes, a snowman with Thunderbolt Murderface's face via old photograph, a delicate little angel with chipped hair and a re-glued limb, the virgin Mary with a penned mustache, and Santa stuck in a chimney, for starters. There's also a plastic picture frame ornament with a picture of the whole Murderface family including a grinning William age 10, a red and green Baby's First Christmas ornament that William secretly finds morbid when he considers the fate of the parents who purchased it, an ugly clothespin Rudolph, a plastic cow, a really obese striped house cat with a bell that really jinglea, a tinfoil star, and a plastic circle with a glittery piece of paper that says, "Maree Crissmus" inside.
"There's a lat of histury here, heh?" Pickles says, grinning. Murderface keeps eating his cookie, nodding, lost in remembering what he still can about the childhood that, for the most part, really does escape his memory. "Dis crayap is pretty cool. A lot of it's handmeed."
Murderface nods again. "Yeah, Grandma'sch crafty. And the old baschtard was really good with wood." He smiles faintly.
"He looks so heappy here," Pickles comments, looking at the smiling face of Thunderbolt. Murderface licks the last vestiges of green off his hand, then wipes the hand on his vest.
"He liked Chrischmas," he offers in explanation. He grabs a few ornaments. "Come help me. That other s'chit looks nice, but this isch the real fuckin' meaning of...peasche on...you know, jolly ol'...bowl full of jelly...and reindeer." He huffs softly, aware of the lack of sense as he mumbles.
Pickles grabs a few ornaments too. "Tewtally," he agrees quietly.
There's a certain reverence to this part of the tree decoration that generic bulb ornaments just aren't capable of instigating. Then, he turns the lights on. They're standard white bulbs, and they don't flash or anything. He stands next to Pickles, and they admire the tree.
***
Somehow, having hot chocolate and marshmallows brought in by Klokateers turns into a game of Chubby Bunny that Murderface wins hands down. This is at least in part because Pickles is laughing so hard he'll probably choke if he doesn't take it easy.
It's not long before they're leaning against each other on the bed and lamenting the fact they've consumed too much sugar. "Sleep first," Pickles murmurs, giggling. "Den maybe some eggnog after, huh?"
They snuggle on Murderface's bed, and Pickles laughs when he realizes there's frosting on the bottom of Murderface's mustache. He brushes it off with his fingertips as best he can and only registers what exactly he's doing-touching the man's face-a bit too late. He pulls his hand back, and Murderface licks his lips involuntarily. They take their respective sides of the bed and sleep off the sugar.
Murderface wakes to Pickles drinking a mug full of eggnog, and there's more where it came from. He's singing "Feliz Navidad" along with the radio, and when he sees Murderface sit up, he giggles and waves from his spot near the cookie table. He continues singing, and Murderface continues sitting, watching him with quiet eyes. Pickles starts into "Silent Night" when it comes on, his beautiful voice interrupted only by the sipping of eggnog.
Murderface gets up, busying himself with making another cookie as he tries to get closer to Pickles and at the same time avoid acknowledging him too fully. Pickles stops singing, and he looks over at him, wondering why.
Pickles hands him a mug, filling it with eggnog slowly. Murderface swallows. They're so close to each other. Tonight should be normal. It's anything but.
Is this what a Christmas miracle feels like?
Murderface sets the mug down, turns toward a plain circular sugar cookie and opens the green gel icing and the white icing. He makes white blobs and green leaves. He hands the cookie to Pickles and takes the mug in hand again, sipping at his eggnog. Pickles carefully studies the cookie. Catching the bassist's eye, he bites his lip and nods. His eyes are innocent and round and hopeful just before he closes them.
The lean in is slow and perfect. They spend "Santa Baby" kissing each other, mugs still in hand. Pickles holds the back of Murderface's neck and feels a strong hand rest at the small of his back.
They pull apart, and they're not sure what to say at first. Pickles starts to giggle and blush and says, "Merry Kissmas."
They turn the lights out, snuggling by the light of the Christmas tree.
***
Pickles wakes up to the sound of the shower. He finds the mini fridge that sits way back in the corner of the vast room and pulls out a beer to get his Christmas morning started. As he heads back to the bed to sit down, he spots the mistletoe cookie Murderface made the night before and smiles.
He spends a long time wondering if he should join him in the shower, heart racing with reality and indecision. He even gets close enough to turn the doorknob. When he finds out it actually turns, he runs back to the bed for his beer. He puts the mistletoe cookie on the bed and heads out to find Toki. He can't deal with the pressure.
***
They're surrounded by their band mates for most of the day. It's the first Christmas Pickles is sad to see leave in a very long time. Murderface waits until pretty late to invite Pickles back. All he does is knock on his bedroom door and hand him the cookie, and Pickles knows.
As he eats the cookie, Pickles finds it incredibly gay that "their song" is most probably going to be a Christmas carol.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Pairing: Some nice Murderface/Pickles.
Summary: Pickles sees a Klokateer carrying a box of ornaments.
Notes: Started this after Dethmas aired, but didn't finish it til just now. Written in present tense.
Christmas Cookies and Holiday Hearts
It's 2 a.m. and Pickles is well into drinking himself into the traditional Christmas stupor. His aim is to wake up with a traditional Christmas hangover, and ignore his present from Toki for a few days until he opens it out of sheer curiosity and thanks him in that "Wow, Grandma, what a nice scarf!" way. He's watching a porno, which he's getting bored of already.
He gets up to go to the bathroom. The halls are winding. Actually, with a house so big, there should probably be more of the things, but he's not to the pissing and puking all over himself stage, so he makes it back to his own room, his own bathroom. There is nothing more sacred to a man than his bathroom. That's something his dad always used to say, but it's one of the few beliefs he's come to agree with him on. Pickles, like his father he doesn't like to think about, likes to hold onto his privacy so tightly sometimes that, well, it becomes all that matters, and fuck the rest of the world, like a million tiny hands are trying to strangle him, holding him down.
But tonight, he just feels lonely.
On his way to the bathroom, he spots a Klokateer with some Christmas lights and a box of ornaments. Looking both ways, he decides to follow him to Toki's room. Maybe a little Christmas cheer is what he needs. He'd expect Toki to be asleep by now, actually, like the poem, dreaming of sugarplums and other, well, gay things. He doesn't really even care if the Klokateer spots him following, seeing as it's his house anyway.
But the Klokateer does not turn toward Toki's room. Pickles scratches his head. Okay, there are a couple ways to Toki's room, actually, but the shortest and best would have meant taking a right where the man in the hood had clearly not made any turns at all, and...well, it's confusing.
Curiosity piqued, Pickles is beginning to think that the Klokateer is not headed for Toki's room at all.
At one point the man stops and turns toward Pickles questioningly. "My lord?"
Pickles waves him forward. He's not going to ask; asking is caring. But he will spy.
They walk down winding stone hallways, the Klokateer stepping a little more carefully, nervous to be so scrutinized. Pickles doesn't care if he drops the whole box ten times and smashes every ornament, as long as he delivers it. Maybe this little adventure is what he needs.
They pass Skwisgaar's room, and that means there are only two candidates left by the time the Klokateer makes the final turn, in front of....
Oh. Okay, actually, that makes sense.
Pickles doubles back and hides around the corner, waiting until he hears Murderface thank the guy. God, does he have to sound so cheery?
Pickles sneaks out around the corner and stands in front of the imposing door, considering. Eh, why not? He's already here. And Murderface does have a bathroom. He knocks.
The door opens slightly. "Yeah, jescht bring it on in." Murderface's back is to the door. He approaches a misplaced-looking but pretty Christmas tree, which Murderface has started wrapping lights around.
"Expectin' semone else, huh?"
William Murderface turns around, surprised. He has a ball ornament in one hand and a piece of garland around his neck like a scarf. "Picklesch! What'ch are you doing here'ch?"
"I need to use your bathroom." Pickles carefully steps over garland and ornaments and makes his way to Murderface's bathroom, where he relieves himself. When he leaves the bathroom, he sees the lights are up, and also witnesses a pair of Klokateers dropping off an entire table of sugar cookies and cookie decorations. His mouth opens slightly. That is...a lot of sugar.
"You don't get a cookie'ch, Picklesch." Murderface points a finger at him. "You all said the idea'ch was stupid! Well who's laughing now? Ha!"
Pickles takes a look at the table, then over at the tree again, before eyeing the garland around Murderface's neck. "Ferst of all, I'm jest gonna preface this bah sayin' that this is nat Mehtal. We both know theat. But, on top of that, need some help with this tree?"
"If you'ch think that'll get you a cookie-" Murderface starts.
"I'm jest bored."
The expression softens. "Okay. Help me get thesche on the tree."
Pickles starts helping him decorate the tree. It's nice and big, with beautiful branches, and it smells like old memories he wishes he didn't have. Murderface turns on the radio, and Pickles turns his face away from the tree. He remembers when his mom used to listen to him over Seth every once in a while. When they used to bake cookies together and decorate the tree, while Seth couldn't be bothered.
Murderface is singing along to the Christmas music, when he takes in Pickles's body language. "Rescht ye merry gentleman let nothing you dischm-whoa, you okay?" He puts a hand on Pickles's shoulder, pulling the redhead back into reality.
"I feckin' hate Chreestmas," he blurts out.
Murderface looks at his face. He has that little boy expression on. Murderface, feeling generous, throws his arms around his pal. Pickles stiffens, then relaxes into the embrace. A pointy wire ornament hanger is poking into his shoulder through his shirt, but he barely notices. "I didn't alwees," he murmurs.
"At schome point...you gotta let go of the pascht...just truscht me."
"I feckin' hate it," he repeats, quietly.
"You gonna let them di'ch'tate how you'ch schpend your holidaysch? Bet they'd fuckin' love that."
Pickles straightens up a bit. "Dood, ye're poking me."
"Huh? But I'm not even tousching you-oo. Oh, of coursche!" He pulls the ornament away from Pickles, pulling back, looking at him.
"Be careful. Dose things...'re sharp." Pickles's lip wobbles.
Murderface tosses the ornament aside, where it crashes out of view. "Picklesch, we're fixing Christmasch for you. We'll do everything, only better."
"Nooo. No. That's stupehd."
"It'sch fucking not! Otherwiche," he says, "otherwiche, they...win!"
Pickles blinks, then sighs. "Let 'em."
"No! No. That'sch. No. You're now my Christmasch mira'ch'le. We're gonna fix thisch."
Pickles's wobbly lip curls a bit into a little half smile. "Yeh don' know what no means. Do ya?"
"N...Yesch." Murderface grins broadly.
"This is a dumb idea." Pickles is smiling, just barely.
***
Pickles is slathering a vast amount of black frosting onto a cookie shaped like a tree, and he really seems to be enjoying himself. Pausing in his trimming of his own green frosting cookie tree by meticulously placing sprinkles, Murderface watches as Pickles makes red blobs that are supposed to either be ornaments or drops of blood or, maybe, both.
"Hey, good job, Picklesch."
"Theenks!" The smile on his face is sweet and full of the fucking Christmas spirit, and it reminds Murderface of the impressively green color of the drummer's eyes.
Murderface shoves the cookie he's been making into his mouth on impulse and takes a bite. He moves over toward his bed, the cookie dropping crumbs both from his chin and from his hand, where most of it still is is. There's a small wooden box on the bed that he struggles to open with his free hand, and when he finally manages, he dumps the contents of it onto the bed.
"What're ya dooin'?" Pickles asks, putting the gel icing down and moving toward the bed as well. "Oooo!" he says. He smiles again.
There's a little wooden rocking horse one, a wooden rifle painted black, some lacy knitted snowflakes, a snowman with Thunderbolt Murderface's face via old photograph, a delicate little angel with chipped hair and a re-glued limb, the virgin Mary with a penned mustache, and Santa stuck in a chimney, for starters. There's also a plastic picture frame ornament with a picture of the whole Murderface family including a grinning William age 10, a red and green Baby's First Christmas ornament that William secretly finds morbid when he considers the fate of the parents who purchased it, an ugly clothespin Rudolph, a plastic cow, a really obese striped house cat with a bell that really jinglea, a tinfoil star, and a plastic circle with a glittery piece of paper that says, "Maree Crissmus" inside.
"There's a lat of histury here, heh?" Pickles says, grinning. Murderface keeps eating his cookie, nodding, lost in remembering what he still can about the childhood that, for the most part, really does escape his memory. "Dis crayap is pretty cool. A lot of it's handmeed."
Murderface nods again. "Yeah, Grandma'sch crafty. And the old baschtard was really good with wood." He smiles faintly.
"He looks so heappy here," Pickles comments, looking at the smiling face of Thunderbolt. Murderface licks the last vestiges of green off his hand, then wipes the hand on his vest.
"He liked Chrischmas," he offers in explanation. He grabs a few ornaments. "Come help me. That other s'chit looks nice, but this isch the real fuckin' meaning of...peasche on...you know, jolly ol'...bowl full of jelly...and reindeer." He huffs softly, aware of the lack of sense as he mumbles.
Pickles grabs a few ornaments too. "Tewtally," he agrees quietly.
There's a certain reverence to this part of the tree decoration that generic bulb ornaments just aren't capable of instigating. Then, he turns the lights on. They're standard white bulbs, and they don't flash or anything. He stands next to Pickles, and they admire the tree.
***
Somehow, having hot chocolate and marshmallows brought in by Klokateers turns into a game of Chubby Bunny that Murderface wins hands down. This is at least in part because Pickles is laughing so hard he'll probably choke if he doesn't take it easy.
It's not long before they're leaning against each other on the bed and lamenting the fact they've consumed too much sugar. "Sleep first," Pickles murmurs, giggling. "Den maybe some eggnog after, huh?"
They snuggle on Murderface's bed, and Pickles laughs when he realizes there's frosting on the bottom of Murderface's mustache. He brushes it off with his fingertips as best he can and only registers what exactly he's doing-touching the man's face-a bit too late. He pulls his hand back, and Murderface licks his lips involuntarily. They take their respective sides of the bed and sleep off the sugar.
Murderface wakes to Pickles drinking a mug full of eggnog, and there's more where it came from. He's singing "Feliz Navidad" along with the radio, and when he sees Murderface sit up, he giggles and waves from his spot near the cookie table. He continues singing, and Murderface continues sitting, watching him with quiet eyes. Pickles starts into "Silent Night" when it comes on, his beautiful voice interrupted only by the sipping of eggnog.
Murderface gets up, busying himself with making another cookie as he tries to get closer to Pickles and at the same time avoid acknowledging him too fully. Pickles stops singing, and he looks over at him, wondering why.
Pickles hands him a mug, filling it with eggnog slowly. Murderface swallows. They're so close to each other. Tonight should be normal. It's anything but.
Is this what a Christmas miracle feels like?
Murderface sets the mug down, turns toward a plain circular sugar cookie and opens the green gel icing and the white icing. He makes white blobs and green leaves. He hands the cookie to Pickles and takes the mug in hand again, sipping at his eggnog. Pickles carefully studies the cookie. Catching the bassist's eye, he bites his lip and nods. His eyes are innocent and round and hopeful just before he closes them.
The lean in is slow and perfect. They spend "Santa Baby" kissing each other, mugs still in hand. Pickles holds the back of Murderface's neck and feels a strong hand rest at the small of his back.
They pull apart, and they're not sure what to say at first. Pickles starts to giggle and blush and says, "Merry Kissmas."
They turn the lights out, snuggling by the light of the Christmas tree.
***
Pickles wakes up to the sound of the shower. He finds the mini fridge that sits way back in the corner of the vast room and pulls out a beer to get his Christmas morning started. As he heads back to the bed to sit down, he spots the mistletoe cookie Murderface made the night before and smiles.
He spends a long time wondering if he should join him in the shower, heart racing with reality and indecision. He even gets close enough to turn the doorknob. When he finds out it actually turns, he runs back to the bed for his beer. He puts the mistletoe cookie on the bed and heads out to find Toki. He can't deal with the pressure.
***
They're surrounded by their band mates for most of the day. It's the first Christmas Pickles is sad to see leave in a very long time. Murderface waits until pretty late to invite Pickles back. All he does is knock on his bedroom door and hand him the cookie, and Pickles knows.
As he eats the cookie, Pickles finds it incredibly gay that "their song" is most probably going to be a Christmas carol.