Joy to the World (Brendon / Ryan)
A Christmas gift for vicious_remarks, who whished for ryan and brendon on christmas eve, brendon decorating the house in lights last minute and nearly breaking his hand, fireplace, christmas tree, night time, snow, and brendon singing christmas songs in ryans ear.
Also, she's my Bandom Cicero and never fails to cheer me up when I'm down and my writing is stuck. So, Dana, Merry Christmas. And lots of love too. ♥
Joy to the World
”Hey, Ryan, where did we put the extension cord again?”
Brendon is covered in Christmas lights, yard after yard of cable with colourful bulbs attached hanging in neat loops around his neck and arms. Ryan looks up from the pot he’s stirring in slow, even circles, a slight frown on his face.
“On the shelf next to the spare tyres,” he says. “But I thought we weren’t doing lights this year? Since we’re going off to Chicago tomorrow and everything.”
Brendon just smiles and rolls his eyes, taking a few steps closer so that he can peer into the pot on the stove over Ryan’s shoulder. The caramel fudge is almost ready, thick and creamy around the wooden spoon. Ryan scrapes off most of the batter against the edge of the pot, leaving just enough for Brendon to taste as he brings the spoon up to his face. The smell of caramel is rich and heavy around them, filling Ryan’s nostrils with its beckoning sweetness. Brendon licks at the spoon carefully, testing the temperature, before he smiles, closes his lips around the edge of the wood and suckles softly at the melted treat.
“Any good?”
His question is answered with a kiss, Brendon closing the distance between them and letting his lips and tongue slide against Ryan’s, trading the flavour of caramel for saffron and chilli left from dinner earlier. Ryan removes the pot from the burner, putting it safely next to the sink. The spoon ends up somewhere nearby, the clatter of wood against polished wood barely noticed as Brendon hums contently and deepens the kiss, pressing as close as he can to Ryan’s back without crushing the lights wrapped all around his body.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he says, breaking off. “I’m not putting up the whole thing, just around the house and in some of the smaller bushes.”
Ryan nods. “Don’t forget the ‘X’,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to Brendon’s ear before turning this attention back to the thickening fudge. It’s a tradition they have: fixing the lights on the roof so that they go diagonally across, intersecting around the chimney, marking the spot for Santa when he comes flying through the night.
“Ryan Ross,” Brendon admonishes, mock-hurt and wide-eyed. “I could never. What would even make you say such a horrible thing?” He moves out of the kitchen, putting an extra sway to his steps for Ryan’s benefit, lights tinkling happily around him. Ryan laughs.
***
He has almost finished cutting the fudge into squares and wrapping them up in brightly coloured pieces of paper when he hears it-a terrible crash somewhere to the left of the kitchen and Brendon’s muted scream in the middle of it all. He’s out of the house in seconds, just in time to see his boyfriend pull himself off the ground, swearing loudly and clutching his left arm.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
It comes out sharper than he intended, too many emotions having passed through him in too short a time to keep his voice calm and even. Brendon winces.
“Slipped and fell as I was climbing down,” he replies. “Think I did something with my wrist, caught it on the pipes or something.” He moves closer, holding up his left arm for inspection. There’s a long scrape along the outer side, spanning from the edge of the hand to half-way down the forearm. Even in the dark, Ryan can see blood forming where something sharp has broken through the pale skin.
“Come on.” He puts an arm around Brendon’s waist, leading him back to the house. The grass is cold and wet under his feet, the dampness of the earth seeping through his socks. Funny. He didn’t realise he hadn’t stopped to put on shoes. When they get back inside, Brendon goes to the bathroom to change his shirt and get the worst of the dirt and grass off. Ryan goes back into the garden, puts away the fallen ladder, connects the cables and takes a moment to admire the way the lights criss-cross around the yard, lighting up the rose bushes and Brendon’s baby apple tree before crawling up the walls of their house, outlining it in the December darkness.
***
“Here, let me help you with that.”
He sits down next to Brendon on the couch, taking the ball of cotton wool from his fingers and reaches across the table for the antiseptics at the bottom of the first-aid kit. Brendon hisses at the first contact of alcohol on broken skin, but keeps his hand as still as he can, letting Ryan clean out the wound and wrapping it up in clean gauze.
“Thanks.” It’s barely a whisper, and the smile is a little strained. Ryan wraps his arm around the dark head and presses a quick kiss to tousled hair, trying to make things a little better. At the opposite wall, the fire they managed to start earlier is dying down, the wood burnt away and reduced to glowing embers. Sparks are still going off from time to time, and Ryan watches how they dance back and forth in little waves of gold and red. Brendon leans his head against Ryan’s shoulder, pushing them both to the side until they’re snuggled comfortably half on top of each other in the semi-darkness.
“Do you think there’ll be snow in Chicago?” Brendon asks. “Jon said there was some last week, but he didn’t know if it would stay.”
Ryan moves his hand to Brendon’s chin, tilting it up slightly, just enough for a lazy kiss. “We’ll see,” he answers, looking out of the window into the dark Las Vegas night. “I hope so.”
“If there isn’t any, we’ll grab Jon and Spencer and go to Canada,” Brendon muses. “Or Alaska or Iceland or something. Somewhere really cold.” He shifts a little, moving in for another kiss, the bandage on his left wrist dragging against Ryan’s forehead as he rolls completely on top of the taller boy, pressing them deeper into the soft cushions. The kiss starts out achingly sweet but soon turns wet and needy-a well-established pattern between them. Ryan moans and presses up a little, one hand going to the small of Brendon’s back, easing its way under the fabric of the soft t-shirt and splaying possessively against warm, familiar skin. He curls his fingers, letting his nails drag lightly over the smooth back, and Brendon groans, grinding down hard. Somewhere in the house, a phone goes off, interrupting the warm silence with a tinny rendition of Santa Claus is coming to town.
Brendon pulls away with an exasperated sigh, and Ryan laughs, rising with him, keeping their mouths together as well as he can as they stumble out of the living room in pursuit of the noise. They somehow make it through the hallway and into the music room to the right without falling, and Brendon fumbles blindly over the mixing table with his bandaged hand, most of his focus set on undoing the buttons on Ryan’s shirt.
“Seriously, Ross, you should stop wearing these things, just think about how much faster I could get you naked if you would just-yeah, hello? Spence, is that you?”
Spencer’s voice comes through the phone, asking about the flight the next day and at what time they will be meeting up to go to the airport. As far as Ryan can tell, Brendon isn’t exactly paying attention, which could have something to do with the way Ryan has both his hands working on unbuckling his belt.
“Yeah, sure, man,” he says, and Ryan can see him bite his lip to keep a moan in as long fingers slip beneath the waistband of his jeans, brushing across hot and hardening flesh while slowly easing the zipper down. The jeans come undone, Brendon’s pleading look and frantic shake of head ignored with an evil smile, and Ryan drops to his knees, leaning forward to mouth at the sensitive skin of an inner thigh.
“Eight thirty. Right,” Brendon manages, raising his uninjured hand to his mouth, biting down around the edge of his thumb to muffle the sounds that threaten to escape him as things progress. He’s holding the phone upside down, trying to keep the mouthpiece as far away from his face as possible to stop it from picking up the sounds of heavier breathing. Ryan goes deeper, enjoying the thrill, stroking Brendon’s thighs with firm, regular movements until they start to tremble and he needs to go higher and keep a steady grip on the hips instead. He takes a long, deep breath through his nose and adjusts the angle, relaxing his throat as much as he can, letting Brendon fuck him. Above his head, his lover is still talking to Spencer, or trying to-from what Ryan gathers through the haze of arousal and concentration, he’s not making much sense anymore. He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on the subtle tells of Brendon’s body, pushing him firmly and deliberately closer and closer to the edge with his hands and mouth until Brendon stiffens, the phone clattering to the floor, battery breaking off, hands fumbling frantically behind him for something to hold on to. A broken cry breaks from his lips, and Ryan wraps his arms around the back of Brendon’s thighs to steady him, swallowing smoothly around the hard length as hot bursts hit the back of his throat. Brendon’s hand moves to his face, caressing his cheek and sliding into his hair, holding him still through the final trembling thrusts. It’s such a quiet moment of intimacy at the centre of burning intensity, and Ryan moves his tongue gently, coaxing the last trickles of pleasure from the sensitive flesh, savouring the lingering feeling-savouring them.
When the gasps out of Brendon’s mouth become quiet moans, he sits back and then gets to his feet, hands pulling the tight jeans back up over Brendon’s hips as he rises, doing up the zipper, refastening the belt.
“I love you.”
Brendon doesn’t open his eyes, but his lips turn into a sleepy, beautiful smile as the words are whispered against his neck. He raises both hands to Ryan’s face, kissing him deeply, pulling him so close, Ryan can nearly feel the way Brendon’s heart beats against his chest. In the distance, another phone goes off-Ryan’s this time-but even though they know Spencer will be pissed and claim that they are both complete assholes tomorrow morning for not talking to him, neither of them can bear to move just yet. So they stay there, leaning against the mixer table, touching and tasting until breaths turn into yawns and eyes flutter closed from sleepiness rather than lust.
“Come on,” Ryan suggests, voice a bit rough and scratchy as he tries to make words. “Let’s go to bed.”
Brendon nods happily against his shoulder and follows him out of the room, picking up the pieces of his phone on the way, putting it back together. Ryan listens to him talk to Spencer while he brushes his teeth, Brendon’s not-terribly-sincere apologies carrying over from the bedroom. He washes his face and hears the call come to an end, the soft notes of Brendon’s favourite Christmas record starting up in its place. He reaches for a towel and turns off the warm water, letting the melody of Schubert’s Ave Maria fill his senses.
Thou canst hear though from the wild,
Thou canst save amid despair.
“Safe may we sleep beneath thy care…”
Brendon’s rich baritone joins the clear soprano on the recording, his arms coming around Ryan from behind, a kiss pressed against a naked shoulder between words sung softly into his skin. Ryan lets himself fall back, leaning into Brendon’s body, sleepy and content and just so damn fucking happy. Brendon sings the song through to the end, voice soft and sure against Ryan’s ear, an impromptu concert for just the two of them. As the last note dies out, he turns his head slightly, pressing his lips to Ryan’s cheek before moving away, reaching for his toothbrush. Ryan steps to the side, letting Brandon take his place in front of the mirror, and moves to take Brendon’s place in turn, arms wrapped securely around a thin, muscled waist, chin resting comfortably against a warm shoulder.
The music is still playing as they crawl into bed, naked skin against naked skin between cool sheets. It’s almost midnight, almost Christmas, and Ryan thinks briefly of Jon and Spencer, of Pete and all the rest of them and of Chicago and snow as he pulls Brendon closer, lacing their fingers together on top of the pillow. Through the window, he can see a myriad stars, little diamonds on a velvet sky spreading out above them.
“Marry Christmas,” Brendon murmurs, bringing their joined hands to his face for a brief brush of lips. “Sleep tight.”
Ryan smiles and closes his eyes.
THE END
A/N: If you've never heard Schubert's Ave Maria, you really should go check it out. It's one of the most beautiful pieces ever. (This particular recording is in German, but the soprano is wonderful and a lot better than the ones I found in English versions, so... :-))
Liked it? Check out my other stories.
Also, she's my Bandom Cicero and never fails to cheer me up when I'm down and my writing is stuck. So, Dana, Merry Christmas. And lots of love too. ♥
Joy to the World
”Hey, Ryan, where did we put the extension cord again?”
Brendon is covered in Christmas lights, yard after yard of cable with colourful bulbs attached hanging in neat loops around his neck and arms. Ryan looks up from the pot he’s stirring in slow, even circles, a slight frown on his face.
“On the shelf next to the spare tyres,” he says. “But I thought we weren’t doing lights this year? Since we’re going off to Chicago tomorrow and everything.”
Brendon just smiles and rolls his eyes, taking a few steps closer so that he can peer into the pot on the stove over Ryan’s shoulder. The caramel fudge is almost ready, thick and creamy around the wooden spoon. Ryan scrapes off most of the batter against the edge of the pot, leaving just enough for Brendon to taste as he brings the spoon up to his face. The smell of caramel is rich and heavy around them, filling Ryan’s nostrils with its beckoning sweetness. Brendon licks at the spoon carefully, testing the temperature, before he smiles, closes his lips around the edge of the wood and suckles softly at the melted treat.
“Any good?”
His question is answered with a kiss, Brendon closing the distance between them and letting his lips and tongue slide against Ryan’s, trading the flavour of caramel for saffron and chilli left from dinner earlier. Ryan removes the pot from the burner, putting it safely next to the sink. The spoon ends up somewhere nearby, the clatter of wood against polished wood barely noticed as Brendon hums contently and deepens the kiss, pressing as close as he can to Ryan’s back without crushing the lights wrapped all around his body.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he says, breaking off. “I’m not putting up the whole thing, just around the house and in some of the smaller bushes.”
Ryan nods. “Don’t forget the ‘X’,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to Brendon’s ear before turning this attention back to the thickening fudge. It’s a tradition they have: fixing the lights on the roof so that they go diagonally across, intersecting around the chimney, marking the spot for Santa when he comes flying through the night.
“Ryan Ross,” Brendon admonishes, mock-hurt and wide-eyed. “I could never. What would even make you say such a horrible thing?” He moves out of the kitchen, putting an extra sway to his steps for Ryan’s benefit, lights tinkling happily around him. Ryan laughs.
***
He has almost finished cutting the fudge into squares and wrapping them up in brightly coloured pieces of paper when he hears it-a terrible crash somewhere to the left of the kitchen and Brendon’s muted scream in the middle of it all. He’s out of the house in seconds, just in time to see his boyfriend pull himself off the ground, swearing loudly and clutching his left arm.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
It comes out sharper than he intended, too many emotions having passed through him in too short a time to keep his voice calm and even. Brendon winces.
“Slipped and fell as I was climbing down,” he replies. “Think I did something with my wrist, caught it on the pipes or something.” He moves closer, holding up his left arm for inspection. There’s a long scrape along the outer side, spanning from the edge of the hand to half-way down the forearm. Even in the dark, Ryan can see blood forming where something sharp has broken through the pale skin.
“Come on.” He puts an arm around Brendon’s waist, leading him back to the house. The grass is cold and wet under his feet, the dampness of the earth seeping through his socks. Funny. He didn’t realise he hadn’t stopped to put on shoes. When they get back inside, Brendon goes to the bathroom to change his shirt and get the worst of the dirt and grass off. Ryan goes back into the garden, puts away the fallen ladder, connects the cables and takes a moment to admire the way the lights criss-cross around the yard, lighting up the rose bushes and Brendon’s baby apple tree before crawling up the walls of their house, outlining it in the December darkness.
***
“Here, let me help you with that.”
He sits down next to Brendon on the couch, taking the ball of cotton wool from his fingers and reaches across the table for the antiseptics at the bottom of the first-aid kit. Brendon hisses at the first contact of alcohol on broken skin, but keeps his hand as still as he can, letting Ryan clean out the wound and wrapping it up in clean gauze.
“Thanks.” It’s barely a whisper, and the smile is a little strained. Ryan wraps his arm around the dark head and presses a quick kiss to tousled hair, trying to make things a little better. At the opposite wall, the fire they managed to start earlier is dying down, the wood burnt away and reduced to glowing embers. Sparks are still going off from time to time, and Ryan watches how they dance back and forth in little waves of gold and red. Brendon leans his head against Ryan’s shoulder, pushing them both to the side until they’re snuggled comfortably half on top of each other in the semi-darkness.
“Do you think there’ll be snow in Chicago?” Brendon asks. “Jon said there was some last week, but he didn’t know if it would stay.”
Ryan moves his hand to Brendon’s chin, tilting it up slightly, just enough for a lazy kiss. “We’ll see,” he answers, looking out of the window into the dark Las Vegas night. “I hope so.”
“If there isn’t any, we’ll grab Jon and Spencer and go to Canada,” Brendon muses. “Or Alaska or Iceland or something. Somewhere really cold.” He shifts a little, moving in for another kiss, the bandage on his left wrist dragging against Ryan’s forehead as he rolls completely on top of the taller boy, pressing them deeper into the soft cushions. The kiss starts out achingly sweet but soon turns wet and needy-a well-established pattern between them. Ryan moans and presses up a little, one hand going to the small of Brendon’s back, easing its way under the fabric of the soft t-shirt and splaying possessively against warm, familiar skin. He curls his fingers, letting his nails drag lightly over the smooth back, and Brendon groans, grinding down hard. Somewhere in the house, a phone goes off, interrupting the warm silence with a tinny rendition of Santa Claus is coming to town.
Brendon pulls away with an exasperated sigh, and Ryan laughs, rising with him, keeping their mouths together as well as he can as they stumble out of the living room in pursuit of the noise. They somehow make it through the hallway and into the music room to the right without falling, and Brendon fumbles blindly over the mixing table with his bandaged hand, most of his focus set on undoing the buttons on Ryan’s shirt.
“Seriously, Ross, you should stop wearing these things, just think about how much faster I could get you naked if you would just-yeah, hello? Spence, is that you?”
Spencer’s voice comes through the phone, asking about the flight the next day and at what time they will be meeting up to go to the airport. As far as Ryan can tell, Brendon isn’t exactly paying attention, which could have something to do with the way Ryan has both his hands working on unbuckling his belt.
“Yeah, sure, man,” he says, and Ryan can see him bite his lip to keep a moan in as long fingers slip beneath the waistband of his jeans, brushing across hot and hardening flesh while slowly easing the zipper down. The jeans come undone, Brendon’s pleading look and frantic shake of head ignored with an evil smile, and Ryan drops to his knees, leaning forward to mouth at the sensitive skin of an inner thigh.
“Eight thirty. Right,” Brendon manages, raising his uninjured hand to his mouth, biting down around the edge of his thumb to muffle the sounds that threaten to escape him as things progress. He’s holding the phone upside down, trying to keep the mouthpiece as far away from his face as possible to stop it from picking up the sounds of heavier breathing. Ryan goes deeper, enjoying the thrill, stroking Brendon’s thighs with firm, regular movements until they start to tremble and he needs to go higher and keep a steady grip on the hips instead. He takes a long, deep breath through his nose and adjusts the angle, relaxing his throat as much as he can, letting Brendon fuck him. Above his head, his lover is still talking to Spencer, or trying to-from what Ryan gathers through the haze of arousal and concentration, he’s not making much sense anymore. He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on the subtle tells of Brendon’s body, pushing him firmly and deliberately closer and closer to the edge with his hands and mouth until Brendon stiffens, the phone clattering to the floor, battery breaking off, hands fumbling frantically behind him for something to hold on to. A broken cry breaks from his lips, and Ryan wraps his arms around the back of Brendon’s thighs to steady him, swallowing smoothly around the hard length as hot bursts hit the back of his throat. Brendon’s hand moves to his face, caressing his cheek and sliding into his hair, holding him still through the final trembling thrusts. It’s such a quiet moment of intimacy at the centre of burning intensity, and Ryan moves his tongue gently, coaxing the last trickles of pleasure from the sensitive flesh, savouring the lingering feeling-savouring them.
When the gasps out of Brendon’s mouth become quiet moans, he sits back and then gets to his feet, hands pulling the tight jeans back up over Brendon’s hips as he rises, doing up the zipper, refastening the belt.
“I love you.”
Brendon doesn’t open his eyes, but his lips turn into a sleepy, beautiful smile as the words are whispered against his neck. He raises both hands to Ryan’s face, kissing him deeply, pulling him so close, Ryan can nearly feel the way Brendon’s heart beats against his chest. In the distance, another phone goes off-Ryan’s this time-but even though they know Spencer will be pissed and claim that they are both complete assholes tomorrow morning for not talking to him, neither of them can bear to move just yet. So they stay there, leaning against the mixer table, touching and tasting until breaths turn into yawns and eyes flutter closed from sleepiness rather than lust.
“Come on,” Ryan suggests, voice a bit rough and scratchy as he tries to make words. “Let’s go to bed.”
Brendon nods happily against his shoulder and follows him out of the room, picking up the pieces of his phone on the way, putting it back together. Ryan listens to him talk to Spencer while he brushes his teeth, Brendon’s not-terribly-sincere apologies carrying over from the bedroom. He washes his face and hears the call come to an end, the soft notes of Brendon’s favourite Christmas record starting up in its place. He reaches for a towel and turns off the warm water, letting the melody of Schubert’s Ave Maria fill his senses.
Thou canst hear though from the wild,
Thou canst save amid despair.
“Safe may we sleep beneath thy care…”
Brendon’s rich baritone joins the clear soprano on the recording, his arms coming around Ryan from behind, a kiss pressed against a naked shoulder between words sung softly into his skin. Ryan lets himself fall back, leaning into Brendon’s body, sleepy and content and just so damn fucking happy. Brendon sings the song through to the end, voice soft and sure against Ryan’s ear, an impromptu concert for just the two of them. As the last note dies out, he turns his head slightly, pressing his lips to Ryan’s cheek before moving away, reaching for his toothbrush. Ryan steps to the side, letting Brandon take his place in front of the mirror, and moves to take Brendon’s place in turn, arms wrapped securely around a thin, muscled waist, chin resting comfortably against a warm shoulder.
The music is still playing as they crawl into bed, naked skin against naked skin between cool sheets. It’s almost midnight, almost Christmas, and Ryan thinks briefly of Jon and Spencer, of Pete and all the rest of them and of Chicago and snow as he pulls Brendon closer, lacing their fingers together on top of the pillow. Through the window, he can see a myriad stars, little diamonds on a velvet sky spreading out above them.
“Marry Christmas,” Brendon murmurs, bringing their joined hands to his face for a brief brush of lips. “Sleep tight.”
Ryan smiles and closes his eyes.
THE END
A/N: If you've never heard Schubert's Ave Maria, you really should go check it out. It's one of the most beautiful pieces ever. (This particular recording is in German, but the soprano is wonderful and a lot better than the ones I found in English versions, so... :-))
Liked it? Check out my other stories.