However, that is not the point of this post! The point of this post is ficlets. A while back - otherwise known as Christmas - I wrote ficlets for people who requested them and sent them out with their Christmas cards. They've been nice enough to say I can share them with the internets so here they be.
girlnamedpixley asked for an SGA drabble
Rodney’s kisses were careful, mouth focused and not quite relaxed. John sighed against him and pressed two lines of soft, damp kisses, working his way around Rodney’s lips.
They kissed softly, slowly, not quite shy but not quite not. Rodney’s lips were damp and slightly parted, dragging and pressing against John’s, sending a shiver from his brain to his toes.
“John,” Rodney breathed, pulling back just far enough that they could look at each other. His cheeks were a little flushed, breath a little unsteady, but it was the broken sound in his voice that undid John.
“God,” he said and kissed Rodney hard before making himself take one step back. “You okay with this?” he asked.
Rodney was nodding before John finished asking. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. Very, very okay with the kissing thing. Can we do it some more?”
“Sure,” John said and laughed. He didn’t say yes, please, but it was close. “Wanna get comfy?” He nodded toward the bed.
Rodney’s eyes went wide. “I-” he managed and it was John’s turn to interrupt.
“Relax, Rodney. I don’t plan to seduce you. Just thought we could do this easier sitting down.”
“Oh.” Rodney said. He looked at the floor then back to John. “Just to be clear, you don’t plan to seduce me tonight? Or you don’t plan to seduce me. Period?”
John curled a hand around Rodney’s arm and led him over to the bed. “I don’t plan to seduce you,” he said, then hurried on before Rodney’s expression could fall. “Until you’re ready.”
Rodney’s expression went soft and fond, but the huffiness was strong in his voice. “Why thank you, Colonel, I’ve always wanted to be cast as the swooning maiden in a regency romance.”
John grinned. “Well if the bodice fits, Rodney,” he drawled.
For aurora84: John/Rodney and a magic 8 ball
Rodney is holding a magic 8 ball. It's not the weirdest thing John's seen this week but it is one of the most incongruous.
"It's a Christmas present from Madison," Rodney tells him defensively before John can even ask.
"Oh hey, that's cute," John says because it is and because it makes Rodney roll his eyes.
"Apparently Jeanie told her that I have a very important job, which is true, and have to make lots of important decisions, which is also true, so she sent me this to help." He sounds half-way between disbelieving and defensive like it's okay from him to tacitly doubt his niece's intelligence but not for anyone else to.
John parks his ass on the corner of Rodney's desk and holds out his hand for the ball. Rodney looks at him doubtfully like he's not sure John can be trusted with such delicate equipment but he hands it over eventually.
"Is it time for Rodney to take a break before he burns out and dies?" John asks the ball, giving it a shake. ("You're not supposed to shake it," Rodney grumbles.) It is decidedly so, the ball tells him. "Ha," says John and shows it to Rodney.
Rodney rolls his eyes.
"Should Rodney stop working and come flying with me?" John asks next. Rodney, bent over his laptop, doesn't even react. You may rely on it, the balls says. John grins. Playing with a magic 8 ball is kind of like talking to Teal'c but with less eyebrow action.
"Are you seriously expecting me to plan my day according to the say-so of a children's toy?" Rodney asks him, sounding exasperated.
"Nope," John tells him innocently. "But Madison is. You wouldn't want to disappoint her now, would you Rodney?"
Rodney sighs the sigh of the truly put-upon. John hides his grin. "Fine," he says, slamming his laptop lid down. He turns to John, hands on his hips. "Shall we?" He doesn't quite as pissed as he'd probably like.
"Sure thing, Rodney." John steps back, letting Rodney go first and Rodney charges towards the door. John puts the magic 8 ball on the table then hesitates, picking it up again. "Should I kiss Rodney today?" he asks it under his breath, feeling stupid and only half kidding.
"Coming Colonel?" Rodney calls and John puts the ball back down quickly, sneaking a quick glanceback at the window: Sources say – yes.
For sonicbookmark: Merlin/Arthur, kisses awake
When Merlin was a child, his mother told him a story about a princess who was awakened with a kiss.
This isn’t that story. Merlin doesn’t have a princess lying motionless in his arms; he has a prince. And Arthur isn’t sleeping; he’s cursed.
The cave is growing colder, danker, darker. Merlin can hear the last, dying echoes of the beast that poisoned Arthur, but it’s no longer a threat, Merlin made sure of that, so ignores it.
Arthur’s skin is white and cold, beads of sweat rolling down his temples and into his hair. He mumbles under his breath, turning his face away from Merlin towards the dim light of their one remaining torch.
“Shh,” Merlin whispers. His mind is racing, trying to remember a spell, anything, that will help Arthur before it’s too late.
In the very back of his mind, a memory stirs, barely anything to start with but growing into remembered words read late at night that he whispers once, hesitantly, then repeats louder, growing more confident.
Arthur’s body is heavy in Merlin’s trembling arms but he ignores that, presses a palm against Arthur’s cheek to turn his face towards Merlin and casts the spell.
For a long minute nothing happens. Merlin holds his breath and thinks please.
Arthur doesn’t stir. Merlin tights his arms around him, fingers digging in tight to the ball of Arthur’s shoulder while his other hand, almost against his permission, slips into Arthur’s messy, sweaty hair.
“Please,” Merlin says again and kisses Arthur’s cool mouth because he can think of nothing else to do.
Arthur chokes – he turns his face away, coughing and gasping for breath, but when he’s done his eyes are open.
“Oh, ow,” he says and blinks blearily up at Merlin, eyes soft and out of focus. “Ow,” he repeats.
Merlin feels dizzy with relief but he sounds fairly normal when he says, “Don’t be such a baby,” and he even manages to rake up a grin.
Arthur pushes himself up onto his elbows. Merlin has to physically force himself to let go even though he knows Arthur can move under his own steam now.
Arthur licks at his lips, brow creasing and Merlin feels his face flush hot. “Really Merlin,” Arthur says, voice not quite steady, “If you've taken to kissing me could you try to limit it to when I'm not dying?”
Merlin blinks, swallows. "Yes?" he tries. Arthur grins at him.
For miscellanny Jon/Brendon 'something about Jon Walker being awesome'
Since Brendon and his parents made up, he’s gone home every Christmas.
The first year, Ryan went with him, which in hindsight was maybe a bad idea. Spencer went the year after that and ever since Brendon has always had Shane to back him up. But this year Regan basically said that Shane had to spend Christmas in California with her if he was serious about making their long-distance thing work.
Brendon is all for Shane and Regan staying together forever and making little tiny Zajac-Valdez babies that Brendon can spoil. He’s less keen on spending a whole Christmas with his parents and no buffer though.
Which is why Jon Walker is the best boy in the world for offering to go with Brendon.
It goes even better than Brendon would have guessed. His parents love Jon. Everyone loves Jon but Brendon is extra-specially impressed that Jon manages to win over Brendon’s parents despite exuding hi, I’m either very high or dreaming about kittens with every smile.
They have dinner, they open their presents – Brendon’s mom has made Jon a stocking, Jon practically beams – they play with Brendon’s nieces and nephews and then they head back to Brendon’s house and… absolutely nothing bad has happened.
Brendon is so stunned he almost can’t believe it. Sometimes he dreams about things he’s nervous about and wakes up relieved that they’re over only to find that they aren’t.
Brendon pinches himself hard. It hurts, but at least it means he isn't dreaming.
“Thank you,” Brendon says once they’re back inside his house, stopping in the middle of the kitchen and turning to fling his arms around Jon’s shoulders. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Jon looks bemused. “I didn’t really do anything,” he says but he still squeezes Brendon hard in return.
“You restored the spirit of Christmas,” Brendon says in his best duh voice. “You’re like, um, that dude! The one from Miracle on 34th Street who still believes in Santa even though he’s a grown-up.”
Jon laughs and bumps his nose affectionately against Brendon’s temple. “Thanks,” he says, “I think.”
They stand there, hugging, almost swaying together, for longer than they should. It never starts feeling awkward to Brendon but Brendon is sometimes not too good at telling other people's awkward from his normal so he lets go anyway.
Jon makes an unhappy noise and pulls him back in. “Christmas tradition, Brendon Urie,” he says, “I need at least thirty minutes of cuddles every day over the holiday period.”
Brendon laughs. He feels all warm and sleepy and full and happy and the inside of his nose is full of Jon-smell. “I can do that," he says and means it.
For secrethappiness Bob/Brian, putting up Christmas lights
When Bob and Dixie hit Chicago it’s fucking freezing. Dixie whines high in her throat the whole walk – read: run – up the drive to their front door and Bob feels like doing the same.
He fumbles with the lock, frowning when the lock jangles but doesn’t turn; if he’s left his door unlocked the whole time he’s been away, he’s never going to hear the end of it.
Warmth hits him like a blanket when he finally gets the door open and that definitely isn’t right, he knows he turned the heat down before he left.
“Hello?” he calls. It’s probably his mom.
Dixie takes off at a run and he tries to grab her collar on the offchance that it isn’t his mom and is, in fact, a really chilly burglar but his hands are tired and he misses her by a couple of inches.
She starts barking in the living room and someone greets her and Bob frowns, wondering if the stress of the drive is making him hear things.
But no. Brian is in Bob’s living room, kneeling on the floor and getting licked by Dixie. That’s the first thing that makes Bob pull up in surprise, the second is the wonky Christmas tree propped in the corner, and the third, forth and nine hundred and sixty-fifth are the pale, white fairy lights strung across the walls.
“Um,” Bob says and Brian looks up, smiling and going pink across his cheeks.
“Uh, your mom helped?” Brian says, pushing Dixie down and standing up.
Of course she did. Bob’s mom loves Brian way more than she loves Bob. “The two of you know you don’t actually live here, right?” he hears himself asking.
Brian cocks an eyebrow and gives Bob his most unimpressed look. “Happy fucking Christmas to you too,” he says, but the very corner of his mouth is quirked up.
Bob sighs. “Shut up,” he says and tries to look less like a scrooge. It probably doesn’t work but Brian is basically a sucker so he rolls his eyes and puts his arms around Bob’s neck anyway, reaching up to kiss him.
“Sorry,” Bob mumbles against Brian’s stubbly cheek. Brian is warm and solid and smells like home. “Long drive.”
“Yeah, I heard,” says Brian. He wraps one hand securely around the back of Bob’s neck and uses the other to point out the laptop on the coffee table beside them; he has it open to the My Chem website, Bob's twitters in a long line down one side.
Bob laughs and presses his face into Brian’s shoulder. His thumbs ache from the memory of all that texting. “How many of those messages were from you?” Bob knows Brian; Brian has secret internet identities.
Bob can feel Brian’s grin press against the side of his face. “That would be telling.” He starts to pull away, but Bob doesn't let him go. "There's hot chocolate," he half-heartedly protests but when Bob tips Brian's face up and kisses him a proper hello, Brian seems happy to go with it.
For yan_tan_tether who wanted Bob/Brian and got The Used as well
It wasn’t like Brian had never thrown a snowball in his life. He grew up in Detroit; he’d thrown one or two or seven hundred. But he’d never been involved in an all-out snow war like this one.
Bert and Quinn were easy to detect and avoid – he could hear the giggling – but he didn’t know where anyone else was, lost among the still falling flurries of snow and the heavy blanket that had surrounded the buses and vans in the night.
Snow exploded against the back of his head with a cold thwack and he scooped up his own handful, flinging it in that direction, only to be hit twice more from opposite sides.
Something grabbed his wrist and “Hey get down,” someone said and then Brian found himself on his belly behind the back wheel of the tech van, next to the new kid they’d brought in to do sound.
The kid – shit what was his name? Ben? Bill? Brian should really know that – had snow in his blond hair, a pile of pre-made snow balls in front of him and a determined expression on his face.
“They always like this?” he asked Brian.
Brian shrugged, sliding one of Ben/Bill/…Bob?’s snowballs a little closer to himself. It never hurt to be prepared. “Nah, this is tame. Wait ‘til they hit on the idea of putting rocks in the snowballs.”
For some reason that earned him a bemused smile and an, “I’m Bob by the way.”
“I know,” Brian said, lied. “I’m Brian.”
Bob gave him a measured look. “I know.” He pushed a couple more snowballs over to Brian. “Ready to kick some ass, Brian?”
Brian was always ready to kick ass. Especially when it was unwashed, giggly and had just gotten snow down the back of his neck. “Lead the way,” he said, gesturing to the left where he could hear someone making very, very unsubtle movements towards their position.
Bob grinned at him for a second, something sharp and fiery in his – wow, seriously blue – eyes, before leaping back into the battle.
For thepouncer, Pete/Patrick, mist
"Are you sure about this?" Patrick asks. It's a pretty stupid thing to ask; Pete's always sure about everything but that doesn't make it necessarily a good idea.
"Sure," Pete says, shrugging like he can't see what Patrick can possibly be worried about. They're only leaving the comfort and safety of their bus to take Hemingway for a walk across an empty, desolate-looking parking lot in the middle of the night. Right.
"We should tell someone where we're going," Patrick says, pulling on his hat and gloves anyway. Because he's a pushover.
"I left a note on the microwave," Pete says leading the way down the steps, Hemmy straining at his leash, "And we'll be back before anyone misses us."
"Sure." Patrick pulls his scarf a little tighter, takes the leash from Pete – because Pete tends to let Hemmy lead him rather than the other way around – and they set off across the lot.
It's three a.m. and there are no cars on the road and no one else parked around them. It's eerie and too quiet and Patrick knows that Pete thrives in conditions like this but Patrick prefers to be warm and cosy and asleep by now.
There's farmland across the road, tree lined and even creepier so of course Pete gets excited about going to check it out. Patrick has his no all ready to use but Pete unhooks his hand from where it had settled tucked into Patrick's elbow and sets off alone. So Patrick has to follow him.
And follow him. And follow him.
"Pete," Patrick says when they've walked far enough that he can barely see the road behind them. Hemingway is trotting happily at Patrick's feet but pretty soon he's going to get tired and Patrick is not going to be the one to carry him. "Pete."
Pete stops, turning back to grin at Patrick. "Isn't this awesome?" he says.
"Um," Patrick manages.
Pete is still grinning. "It's awesome. It's like we're the only people in the world."
Patrick will give him that, that's definitely how it feels. Patrick isn't quite as excited by the idea as Pete seems to be though. He looks over his shoulder, checking that he has a vague sense of the way back and blinks. Shit.
"Pete, look at the mist." It's not so much mist as fog – Patrick isn't sure of the difference but whatever this is it's thick – and it's closing around them fast.
"Pete," Patrick snaps, holding out his free hand and grabbing Pete by the sleeve. Patrick is not losing him in freakish weather conditions.
Pete turns to look where Patrick's pointing and his eyes go huge. "Wow, that's pretty cool," he says softly.
Patrick feels his blood pressure rise. "Cool?" he snaps. "I'm sure it's freezing." He turns them back to where he thinks – hopes – the road is and immediately trips over Hemmy, who jumps away barking and leaves Patrick to land hard on his knee.
Patrick swears. He pushes himself back to his feet, leg smarting, palms cold and soggy.
When he looks up at Pete, Pete's biting his lip.
"Sorry," Pete says, sounding contrite. "This was a dumb idea. Are you okay?"
Patrick opens his mouth to say that no he is not okay. He's cold and lost and a little bit freaked out. But Pete had looked so genuinely happy a minute ago that Patrick can't bring himself to say anything.
Patrick reaches out and Pete's hand is bare and warm in Patrick's gloved one and he finds himself squeezing hard and saying "It's fine, I'm fine. Come on, I think home's this way."
tardis80 wanted something from my Who Says You Can't Go Home 'verse, Jon/Ryan, proposal
It's December 23 and they're watching Miracle on Thirty-Forth Street – the new version because Jon is a heathen and Ryan is bad at saying no to him. They're flying to Chicago tomorrow to spend Christmas with Jon's family – and Spencer and Tom, which Ryan is perhaps a little excited about – and Ryan is way more nervous that he's admitting.
"Dude," Jon says in his ear, spreading his hand over Ryan's belly. "Breathe."
Ryan tips his head back onto Jon's shoulder and forces a smile. "Shh," he says, waving at the TV. He has no idea what part they're up to, but talking over the TV is forbidden.
Jon kisses his cheek and Ryan can't help making an embarrassingly satisfied noise. "My parents are going to love you," Jon whispers, nosing Ryan's ear.
Ryan tenses. He used to be so hard to read; he's not sure how Jon always knows how he's feeling. "Parents think I'm weird," he confesses with a shrug. Mainly, he means his own parents; Spencer's parents have always been pretty awesome.
"My mom'll want to feed you. My dad will wants to talk music with you. My brothers will want to embarrass me at you and Spencer and Tom live like ten minutes away if it all gets too much for you."
Ryan rolls onto his side and puts his head on Jon's shoulder so he doesn’t have to meet Jon's eye. "No one's ever taken me home before."
Jon strokes Ryan's back and kisses his hair. "Would it-," he starts to say then hesitates. Ryan hums encouragingly. "Would it be better if I was taking you home as my fiancé?"
Ryan goes still. "What?" he manages in a small voice. Jon doesn't say anything and when Ryan looks up, Jon's face is red. Ryan pushes himself up and says again, "What?"
Jon bites his lip. "You don't have to," he starts but Ryan puts his hand over Jon's mouth. His hand is shaking.
"Are you really asking me that?" he asks. His voice is shaking too.
Jon nods behind Ryan's hand.
"Are you just asking to make me feel better?"
Jon shakes his head and his eyebrows waggle emphatically. Ryan removes his hand.
"I was going to ask you at New Year," Jon admits, he meets Ryan's eyes for a second, then drops his gaze to somewhere around Ryan's collarbone. "We can pretend I didn’t say anything."
Ryan needs something to record this feeling in his chest; he's never felt anything like it. "No we cannot," he says firmly and grabs Jon's face, kissing him hard.
Jon blinks at him. "Wait, was that a yes?" He sounds like he really thought Ryan might turn him down.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "Of course it was a yes," he says. Jon starts to smile and Ryan knows he's echoing it. "But," he says, hand on Jon's chest before Jon can kiss him again. "You have to ask me again at New Year."
harriet_vane's prompt was "Brendon" which was enough for me!
Brendon was asleep when Spencer got home, curled onto his side on the sofa with Boba’s muzzle under his outstretched hand.
Spencer did his best to tiptoe but he was a little bit drunk, a little bit high and he made enough noise to wake Boba who sat up, whuffing softly.
“Shh,” Spencer whispered but Brendon was already stirring, rolling onto his back and pushing his bangs back to blink at Spencer with big, sleepy eyes.
“You’re early,” he said without looking at the clock.
“A little,” Spencer agreed, shucking his jacket and shoes and crossing over to Brendon who smiled crookedly up at him.
“I knew you’d come home to me, Spencer Smith,” Brendon said sleepily, patting the sofa cushion invitingly until Spencer sat down. “Did you have to fight any ravening hoards?”
Spencer nodded solemnly. “Dozens.” He pressed the back of his hand against Brendon’s forehead, relieved to find he was only a little bit warmer than usual. Brendon had been feeling crappy for days but Spencer hadn’t worried until Brendon had decided not to go to Ryan’s party. Brendon loved parties.
"My hero," Brendon said through a smile. His smile broke on a frown, his nose wriggling before he twisted to the side and sneezed a couple of times.
"Gross," Spencer said, handing him a tissue. He swung his legs up onto the sofa alongside Brendon's while Brendon blew his nose then collapsed back against Spencer, coughing weakly. "C'mon," Spencer said, once again proving totally unable to resist Brendon when he was tragic.
Brendon curled into him. “You smell a little bit drunk,” Brendon told him, nosing at his neck.
Spencer drew spiral patterns up Brendon’s spine. “That’s because I am a little bit drunk,” he said.
Brendon pressed his whole face under Spencer’s chin. “I knew it. I have a super sense of smell. I could be a Mountie.”
“What?” Spencer asked but Brendon was humming to himslef, sounding content and a little bit feverish.
Brendon lifted his head, eyes blurry. "What?"
Spencer smiled. He thought about kissing Brendon's forehead, decided that was too twee then did it anyway. "Nothing," he said, "Get some sleep."
"Mm," Brendon agreed and Spencer lay still, content to let Brendon pass out on him.
For vic_ramsey, Shane/Brendon, second Christmas
They spent their first Christmas together with Brendon's parents even though Brendon's parents were technically aware that they weren't together, so they spend their second with Shane's family.
It's totally logical and there's no way that the Valdez family can be any scarier than the Uries must have been for Shane. Brendon knows all this.
He still has to make Shane stop the car about ten minutes outside of Seattle so he can sit on the side of the road and convince himself not to puke.
"Dude, c'mon," Shane says, rubbing Brendon's back and considerately smoking in the opposite direction to Brendon's hunched up ball of misery.
"I know," Brendon says helplessly. He presses the back of his hand to his eyes dramatically. "You should just leave me here. Pick me up again on your way home."
Shane's hand slides up to the back of Brendon's neck and shakes him gently. "Bden, come on, you know my parents, how scary can meeting anyone else be?"
"You have a hugest family ever and they're going to judge me," Brendon hisses, glancing around just in case any of them are lurking. He knows all about families, he knows their tricksy ways.
"No one's going to-," Shane starts to say then breaks off when his phone buzzes.
Shane pulls out his phone and laughs, tipping the screen so Brendon can see. hey! where ru? if uve stopped to hv sx ur mom will kill u bth, it says. It's from Ian and even that isn't enough to make Brendon feel better.
"See?" he demands, vindicated. "Kill me! Kill me for sleeping with you." Oh god, he's going to hyperventilate.
Shane, because he's heartless and uncaring, stands up and pulls Brendon up with him. "Back in the car," he says in his stern voice. Shane's stern voice is normally pretty hot. It isn't this time.
Brendon pouts but does as he's told and he's just buckling his seatbelt when Shane's hands land on his, stopping him.
Brendon makes an enquiring noise then goes quiet when Shane's hands tighten around his wrists and Shane licks his way into Brendon's mouth.
The kiss is fast and hard, Shane's hands flexing around Brendon's wrists until all the tension goes whooshing out of Brendon's body and he sinks back against the seat exhaling gustily.
"Okay now?" Shane asks, sitting back and wiping his lips with his fingers.
Brendon nods dumbly.
Shane grins and gives him another kiss, softer. "Thanks for coming with me," he says quietly before turning back to the road and putting the car into drive.
Brendon finds he isn't so nervous anymore.
For summertea, Jon/Ryan, stuck at O'Hare Int'l
"There's nothing here," Ryan complains. If Spencer's near-silent sigh is anything to go by, he's said it before.
"It's an airport," Spencer tells him. "What do you want?"
"Anything." Spencer can't see him, but he flings his arms out dramatically anyway, nearly smacking some old lady with a bright pink suitcase in the face. "Sorry," he mumbles, bringing his elbows back to his sides.
Spencer is laughing at him, which Ryan thinks is a bit much. There's some kind of blizzard going on outside and his flight's delayed. He's been sitting in departures at O'Hare forever, and there is seriously nothing here except a McDonalds and a gift shop. The world's busiest airport should have more than that, right?
"I'm hanging up on you now," he tells Spencer, hunkering down in his seat when someone comes flailing past, arms full of bags and coffee.
"No hey, wait," Spencer says. "Have you called Jon?"
Ryan frowns. "No, I called you."
"No, doofus, have you told Jon that your flight is messed up?"
Ryan said goodbye to Jon at security earlier and it had felt weird, like something was missing. "No," is all he says.
Spencer sighs. "Call Jon. Get him to pick you up. You can try for another flight tomorrow."
That's… way too logical. "That's way too logical," Ryan complains.
Spencer laughs. "Call Jon," he says. "Love you," and hangs up.
Ryan calls Jon and Jon sounds absolutely horrified that his airport is failing so very badly. "I'll be there asap," he says and ends the call before Ryan can tell him not to drive carefully in the bad weather.
So Ryan leaves Arrivals, tucks himself into the corner by the automatic doors at the entrance and spends the next forty minutes staring at the snow splashing wetly against the window and watching the near-empty road and telling himself not to worry even though the TV monitor above his head is advising people not to drive unless they have to.
Jon's a good driver. Jon's a good driver, the snow isn't that bad, and anyway he's used to driving in it. Ryan repeats all the comforting thoughts he has over and over like a mantra.
He maybe kind of flies from the terminal when Jon's beat-up old car slides to a stop a few yards down from Ryan. Ryan hasn’t done his coat up and his shoes aren't designed for, well, weather and his bags are somewhere back inside but Jon just tumbles out of the car and catches him, laughing. "Jesus, you're going to freeze," Jon says.
Ryan shakes his head. "Don't care," he says and surprises himself by clinging to Jon kind of hard.
"I wanted to ask you to stay," Jon says all in a rush. "Miss your flight, come home with me," Jon says.
"Yes," Ryan says and tucks his face into Jon's neck, breathing in the warm, dry skin he finds there.
For danacias, Bob/Spencer, surprise visits
The knock comes just as Bob is settling down on the sofa for a night of Dexter and corn chips. It’s probably Bob’s crazy neighbour lady who things he’s a plumber but he gets up anyway to answer it.
It isn’t Bob’s crazy neighbour lady.
“Well?” Spencer asks, hands twitching on the handles of his bags like he wants to put them on his hips. “Have you forgotten what I look like, Bryar?”
“Jesus,” Bob says, snapped back to reality. He grabs Spencer’s arms and pulls him inside. Spencer drops his bags just inside the door and shoves his hands into his coat pockets, looking defensive and stubborn and a little shy. “What are you doing here?”
They’d had a plan. Spencer was going to spend December with his family and only come out right at the end for Bob’s birthday. It was a pretty sucky plan.
Spencer pushes his bangs back from his face and with it his ridiculously fluffy hood. Spencer always overdresses when he comes to Chicago like he forgets it isn't the Arctic. “My mom said I was getting under her feet and my sisters kept telling me I was moping and my dad just rolled his eyes and handed me a ticket. So here I am.”
He folds his arms over his chest and tips his chin up. Bob grins.
“Are you sure you’re really under there?” Bob asks, toying with the buttons of Spencer’s coat instead of saying thank Christ or I missed you.
Spencer rolls his eyes but lets Bob undress him a little. His cheeks go pink just before Bob unwinds his scarf and Bob remembers not to expect a beard just before he reveales soft-looking lips and an almost naked-seeming chin.
“Did you have to make yourself look younger?” Bob huffs. When the first pictures of beardless Spencer hit the internet, Frank sent him an email that was nothing but lols and Brian called him to say you are sure he’s legal, right? but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t look good.
Spencer can obviously read Bob like a book by now because one side of his mouth quirks up. “I look awesome,” he tells Bob, wrapping his arms around Bob’s neck. “Brendon says so.”
“Well if Brendon says,” Bob laughs, putting his hands on Spencer’s hips where they always fit perfectly.
Spencer pulls him closer and they kiss softly, hesitant and almost chaste after more than a month apart. It feels strange not to feel Spencer’s beard competing for space with his and he wonders distantly if his bristles are scratching at Spencer’s skin but Spencer just smiles against Bob’s mouth and Bob stops thinking.