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“Patrick, I’m back!” Brendon calls, closing the apartment door behind him. He had run out for a few minutes because they needed another string of Christmas lights. Patrick had used most of the lights they had, leaving about ten feet once they realized that the bottom third of the tree was left lightless. Rather than re-string the whole thing, Brendon has just laughed, kissed him goodbye, and gone to go buy more.
“Bren!” comes Patrick’s reply. “Just in time; I got the ornaments out.”
Brendon digs the box of lights out of the plastic bag as he walks into the living room. “I’m only like 90% sure these lights are the same size as the ones we have, so—” Brendon looks up and stops talking, throat closing up with the sight before him. “Rick.”
Patrick looks up and pushes his glasses up his nose. “What?” He looks...he looks beautiful, lit up with an otherworldly glow from the tree, a box or ornaments opened between his legs, Christmas trinkets spread out on the floor around him. Brendon knows he had been wearing the red sweater he has on all day, but it’s only now does Brendon realize that it’s his , that Patrick is wearing his sweater. He’s the most gorgeous person Brendon’s ever seen. “Did you get the lights?”
“I love you,” Brendon says as way of answer, setting the lights down and sitting next to Patrick.
“That’s a funny way of saying yes,” Patrick laughs, reaching out to take the box when Brendon hands it to him. He inspects the label. “Yeah, these are the right kind.” He makes as if to stand and start putting them on, but Brendon puts his hand over Patrick’s and holds him back. “Rick.”
“What?” Patrick asks, turning his hand to lace his fingers with his boyfriend’s.
Brendon scoots closer and presses his forehead to Patrick’s shoulder, sighing. “I just...I really love you.”
Brendon can practically feel Patrick’s smile. “I love you too, B.”
“No, I don’t think you understand,” Brendon says solemnly. “I really fucking love you.”
Fingers under Brendon’s chin tilt his head up, and Patrick says a soft, “I know, silly,” before leaning down to kiss him gently.
Brendon traces the line of Patrick’s jaw with his fingertips. “I’m gonna marry you,” he whispers.
Patrick pulls back, smiling so that one eye crinkles up more than the other. “Is that a proposal?”
Brendon’s stomach drops past his toes and all the way to the other side of the Earth. “I— no .”
Patrick blinks. “No?”
“Fuck,” Brendon swears, furiously backtracking. “Look, Rick, I’m sorry, I—I love you and just. Fuck. ”
Patrick sits there very, very still. He doesn’t say anything, but his lips are pressed into a thin line.
“I’m not…” Brendon takes a deep breath and resets his mind. This is not where he planned for the evening to go. “I already told you Rick, so many times. I’m fucking marry you one day, okay? Like, I’m never changing my mind about that.”
“Okay,” Patrick says softly, but there’s still a trace of a frown across his features.
“It’s just,” Brendon says, taking up his boyfriend’s hands again, “we haven’t really like, talked about it, and this isn’t how or when I wanted to do it anyway and I’m. God, I fucked up and I’m sorry but please just—just don’t make me sleep on…” he swallows, “on The Couch .”
His attempt at humor seems to work, because Patrick smiles again. “Bren, it’s okay. I was just...just a little surprised, I guess. And you don’t have to sleep on the couch, idiot. Literally when have I ever made you do that?”
“Just making sure,” Brendon replies, pecking Patrick on the lips before helping him up. “Now, are you sure you’ve got the lights this time?”
Patrick flushes, pulling the box of lights to his chest and opening it determinedly. “Yes. Shut up.”
Of course, there’s still a few branches that don’t quite get covered all the way at the bottom, but Brendon just sits back on the couch and bites his tongue, grinning. Patrick is really fucking adorable. This is their first Christmas as a couple—they had gotten together earlier in the year, during April, after a little too much to drink at Brendon’s birthday party and a drunken round of karaoke that ended with them making out in front of everybody, to no one’s surprise but their own—and honestly, Brendon kind wishes that they had talked about getting married more. It would have been sweet to propose on Christmas. Sadly, he doesn’t have any plans for that in the immediate future, but someday…
“Will you get the star?” Patrick asks casually, but Brendon sees the way he eyes the tree topper apprehensively, and he thinks he knows why.
“I’m good,” Brendon replies, reaching down to continue unboxing ornaments. “You can get it.”
“Brendon. Please,” Patrick says, a little desperate but trying to hide it.
“Why don’t you just do it?” Brendon teases, although he knows exactly why.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Patrick says.
“Neither do I,” Brendon returns, smirking. “You’re literally holding the star in your hands.”
Patrick glares. “Are you really going to make me fucking say it?”
Grinning, Brendon slowly spins an ornament between his fingers. “Maybe.”
“I’m not—” Patrick’s jaw clenches in frustration. “You— dick .”
Brendon doesn’t reply, instead standing and starting to hang ornaments, humming a Christmas tune to himself.
“Fine!” Patrick huffs, throwing his hands up. “I can’t reach. I’m too short. Happy?”
“I’m always happy when you’re here, Rick,” Brendon murmurs, taking his boyfriend’s hands.
Patrick scoffs. “You’re only happy when you’re making fun of me.”
“Not true,” Brendon counters, swooping in to pick Patrick up around the middle, so that his hipbones dig a little painfully into Brendon’s shoulders, and spins him around. Patrick squeals in surprise, clutching the star close so that it doesn’t fall out of his hands. “Brendon!” he exclaims. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m also happy when I’m helping you,” Brendon declares, backing up to the tree so that Patrick can reach over his head to place the star on top, which he does, laughing.
“Brendon,” Patrick chuckles, putting his hands on Brendon’s shoulders when the brunet doesn’t make a move to let him go, “you can put me down now.”
“I’m good,” Brendon says simply, trying very hard not to drop the shorter man as he gingerly picks up an ornament and balances it precariously on one of the branches.
“B,” Patrick whines, sounding distressed, “seriously. You’re going to drop me or something.”
“Nah,” Brendon disagrees, struggling not to drop Patrick. “I like, totally got you. No problem.”
“Put me doowwnn,” Patrick demands, and well, fine.
Brendon staggers over the couch, practically toppling over as he sets—really, more like throws—Patrick down, and plopping down on top of him. “There. You’re down.”
“You’re also on top of me,” Patrick grumbles.
“Mm hm. That’s generally how it goes.” Brendon presses his lips to Patrick’s in a soft kiss that quickly turns deep and serious, mouths moving slow and intently over each other. Patrick lets Brendon fall between his thighs, hooking one leg loosely around the back of his knee and pulling him close. Brendon hums in appreciation and lightly traces the strip of skin showing between the waistband of Patrick’s jeans and his sweater.
“Bren, wait,” Patrick mumbles when Brendon’s wandering hands start to slip under the soft red fabric.
“Whazzit?” Brendon slurs, pressing sloppy kisses to Patrick’s jaw, to his neck, to that spot just under his ear that always makes him go crazy.
Patrick sucks in a breath. “Brendon Boyd Urie,” he warns shakily. He puts his hands on Brendon’s chest, but the action seems to pull Brendon closer rather than push him away.
“Patrick Vaughn Stump,” Brendon returns, kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re ruining my fun.”
“Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you can distract me from Christmas,” Patrick says, finally managing to push him away, sliding off the couch and holding up a couple of ornaments as if to show his intentions.
“But—”
“No buts,” Patrick interrupts. “Christmas is literally tomorrow; we’re fucking finishing this shit right now. I’ve been trying to get this thing up for at least two weeks.”
“I’m just so irresistible,” Brendon says, getting up after him and trying to sneak another kiss.
“You’re deplorable, that’s what you are,” Patrick deadpans. He points firmly to the box of decorations. “Help.”
“Fine,” Brendon sighs dramatically.
Patrick very determinedly sets up the rest of the decorations and places each ornament with care without succumbing to Brendon’s charm once . Brendon pulls out all of the stops, from his infamous puppy eyes to the dirtiest kiss he can place of Patrick’s neck (he may or may not use a little too much teeth; there’ll be a mark there later), all to no avail. It’s not until Patrick has set out the very last ornament and has stood back to admire the tree with his arms crossed for what seems like an hour that Brendon finally gets him to crack.
“Baaaabeee,” Brendon says, tugging on Patrick’s sleeve.
“You’re such a child,” Patrick mutters fondly.
Brendon leans forward for another kiss, pleasantly surprised when Patrick finally reciprocates the action, pulling back before Brendon can even get properly started.
“Aren’t you glad we finally finished?” Patrick sighs happily, sliding his arm around Brendon’s waist and leaning his head on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Brendon admits. “It’s looks beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” Patrick says.
Brendon looks over at him in surprise; usually he’s the one to say cheesy shit like that. “Well then, it’s downright hideous compared to you ,” he says after a moment, trying to come with an even better compliment.
“Oh please,” Patrick scoffs. “Everyone knows you’re the attractive one.”
“Shut up,” Brendon says, kissing his cheek. “You’re way sexier than me.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Well...I know a way to make you feel like you’re the most beautiful person ever .” Brendon waggles his eyebrows, which earns a laugh.
“You’re terrible. You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore, are you?”
“Nope!” Brendon agrees happily. “I really like sex.”
Patrick taps one of his fingers one Brendon’s cheek, not bothering to hide his laugh. “Fine. But only if you put away all these boxes first. I’ll be waiting. Don’t make me start the party without you.”
“God I love you,” Brendon declares, snatching one last kiss before nearly falling over himself in his haste to get all the boxes, now void of their contents, put away again.
“I love you,” Patrick replies, smiling. His footsteps head into the other room before stopping, and Brendon feels something soft land on his back. He turns his head to see the red sweater fall to the floor and a shirtless Patrick disappear into their bedroom. “I’m serious!” the blond calls. “You better hurry!”
Brendon doesn’t think he’s ever cleaned anything so fast in his life.