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“You…made this?”
Ronan turned Adam’s gift around in his hand, handling it carefully, as if it might break. He really didn’t need to worry, it was heavy and sure against his palm, the glaze smooth and cool against his fingertips. It felt good to hold, like it had been made to fit against his lifeline, and maybe it had been. He fumbled for a word to call it — glass felt like a lie, because it was made out of sturdy clay, carefully shaped and painted, but calling it a goblet made him feel like Gansey was a smirking shoulder angel, beaming with pride.
“Nah, Gillian did. I just wrapped the box,” Adam replied.
He sat cross-legged across from Ronan, his expression oddly buttoned up despite it just being the two of them. The fireplace crackled, and it was the only light in the room aside from the glow of the well-loved Christmas tree they sat next to. Ronan’s head came up, and he peered at Adam for a long moment.
Finally, “Tch, you’re such an asshole, Parrish.”
Still, he couldn’t get past the marvel of simple sculpting, a gentle ridge circling the cup near the mouth, the lip stained a dark blue that dripped over a mottled green-brown, like the night sky sliding into a dense thicket of trees. The effect may not have been intentional, but it invoked such a feeling of home in Ronan, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. The bottom tapered into a short stem and rounded back out again. He could feel the edges of the raw, unglazed clay when he ran his thumb along the bottom of it. He brushed against an indentation and carefully turned it over. Parrish-Lynch and the year had been written into the clay, where the kiln fired the letters into something Ronan could touch. He put it down before he could be tempted to squeeze it too tight and break it. Was that even possible? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out. There were two of them, the other still nestled against tissue paper inside the box. A pair, shaped by forces outside their control, tested with fire and found to be art. Ronan pressed his lips together stubbornly; it was almost too much.
“I thought we weren’t going to do gifts,” he said, more grumpy than he intended.
Adam tilted his head slightly. “This is different, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” Ronan huffed, “but I didn’t get you shit.”
Okay, so that wasn’t entirely accurate, but by the Rules of Dating Adam Parrish, he hadn’t bought anything he’d intended to give Adam during winter break. Those things had either come from Lindenmere or his dreams. And, yes, he supposed it was different. Just like receiving a present that had been shaped by Adam’s hands, something he couldn’t have bought anywhere in the world, nor pulled from his own head.
“That’s not why I did it.”
Adam reached for the goblet Ronan had just set down, tracing his fingertips over the lip, down the stem. Ronan clenched his teeth at the sight of it, feeling incredibly charged in this intimate and quiet little moment they were trying to have. He couldn’t quite get that part right either, but God knew he was trying.
“I took a pottery class with Eliot. I had no idea what I was doing.”
Ronan didn’t know shit about sculpting or pottery, or whatever witchcraft Adam had used to make this, but he’d used his hands. Even if Adam had never done it before, he had hands that longed to shape things, hold things, repair things, take things apart. Maybe Adam had been surprised he could manage this, but Ronan wasn’t. Sure, some asshole could look at these cups and find some imperfection, but he’d made them with Ronan in mind. He’d carved their fucking names into the bottom of it, the year of their second Christmas together , and there was nothing imperfect about that. Ronan imagined Adam hunched around a pottery wheel, his brow furrowed in that way that meant he was learning every little thing he could, determined to create. An Adam Parrish, clothes slightly messy, his elegant fingers wrapped around a shape only he could see in his mind, wet clay under his fingernails — well, that Adam Parrish, like any other before him, did terribly wonderful, destructive things to Ronan’s insides.
Feeling like his body couldn’t really contain him, Ronan leaned forward, taking the chalice-goblet-piece-of-Adam’s-heart straight from his hands and tucked it back in the box. He tangled his fist into Adam’s sleeve next, and up this close he watched all that indifference fall away. The tension unspooled from Adam’s shoulders, and he leaned in, his eyes hooded and his lips curving into a knowing smile. He knew what was coming, and he met Ronan’s mouth hungrily. Greedy, Ronan pushed back on him until he was laid out in front of the fire, the light dancing off Adam’s cheekbones by the time he pulled back, panting slightly.
Adam licked his lips and smirked up at him. “Do we have time for this? Wouldn’t want to be late for Midnight Mass.” Contrary to his words, he’d put his hand under the hem of Ronan’s shirt, fingertips on skin.
Ronan could feel himself making a disgruntled face, wrinkling his nose. “We’ll have time if you don’t ask dumb questions the whole time.” He was already caving to the feel of Adam touching him; there would be no way he could stop now.
Adam put his other hand behind Ronan’s head, turning his spine molten. He followed the pull down until Adam kissed over his pulse, and Ronan shivered. Adam dug his teeth in.
“Fuck,” Ronan groaned. “My collar’s, ah, not that high.”
“Oh good.” Adam bit him again, running his tongue over the spot a moment later. “Nothing wrong with a little worship before worship.”
Ronan’s eyes fluttered closed, and he made a soft sound he’d deny to the grave. Precious little made him care about what anyone else might think of him. Let Matthew giggle at his hickeys and Declan roll his eyes in disapproval. Let the little old ladies gasp scandalously when he held Adam’s hand in the pew. Since they’d never been struck by lightning at the threshold, God must have liked something about the two of them, and it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about it. This was their first time going to Midnight Mass together, and while it wasn’t their first Christmas, they had become more since then.
Ronan managed a desperate Hail Mary right before Adam took him apart under the winking colored lights.
-
On Christmas morning, before the sun had even come up, Ronan was tired but elated. He took advantage of Adam’s deep sleep under a pile of covers to sneak off and finish his work. This little barn had once been the steadfast housing for various farm and yard equipment had been hastily emptied to leave Ronan room to dream. First, he’d strung up extra lights around the perimeter, taking advantage of ceiling hooks and tacks on the wall that tools had once been hung from, until the whole room had a pleasing glow to it. He cheekily hung a sprig of mistletoe above the door, even though they really didn’t need it. Some things were just about stupid tradition, and Ronan Lynch knew a lot about stupid tradition. He was intent on making this Christmas like none other for Adam. There was still a lot of work he could do, but not enough time. He spread a blanket on the floor, and lay down, following his own exhaustion into sleep.
Into Lindenmere.
It was there that he focused on the images he’d searched up on the internet. Ronan had crammed so much information about pottery wheels and throwing clay and firing kilns into his head in a shockingly small amount of time. He wished he’d known sooner, but he supposed it would have ruined the surprise. At one point, he caught himself thinking about the goblets, the way the feel of their names in the bottom made his heart race. It was a close call, but he almost brought back fifty of them instead of the thing he was really trying to dream.
Christmas morning was supposed to be magical, and magical it would be. He jumped up from the floor after waking, tucked the blanket away and went to go make coffee.
Adam still had his mug in hand when Ronan led him through the lazy snowfall, following the tracks his boots had made earlier to the little barn. Ronan made an overstated flourish when he opened the door for him. His heart did a childish flutter when Adam’s jaw went slack. He felt wildly ecstatic, a feeling that started in his bones and filled every part of him, as if this gift had been for him and not his boyfriend. Here they were, 7AM on Christmas morning, and Ronan was covered in dust, slightly bruised and incredibly proud of himself. In the center of the room sat a pottery wheel, and when Ronan compared it to the pictures he’d seen online, he didn’t think he’d done too bad. There was likely to be about ten other versions of it to come, just to make sure he got it right.
“I thought…we weren’t doing gifts,” Adam murmured, still dumbfounded.
Ronan couldn’t help himself, mimicking Adam from the night before. “It’s different, isn’t it?”
Adam jabbed an elbow between his ribs, but finally his smile broke out of his surprise. “Why are you like this?”
“It’s your fault.”
He looked like he might argue, but instead he headed over to inspect the wheel. There wasn’t even any clay on it, and yet when Adam touched it, Ronan could so easily imagine it. He had absolutely no regrets about this.
“Merry fuckin’ Christmas, Parrish.”
Ronan pushed him against the door frame, careful not to spill a drop of Adam’s coffee, and kissed him under the mistletoe.