Chapter Text
December 1st. Late afternoon. Hanwell Christmas Trees, West Ealing, London.
“This one’s definitely too big, duck.”
And that’s how Taron’s excited smile and showy hand gesture towards what undeniably is a huge fir tree gets mercilessly shut down.
Ugh. Every time. Richard has to be the ‘reasonable’ one. Taron’s painfully aware that the tree is over seven feet tall, but it’s also bushy and gorgeous and absolutely perfect for their needs. Plus, he’s accepted the fact that it absolutely isn’t worth it to buy one for the flat, since he spends almost every night at Richard’s anyway, and he does need at least one good Christmas tree in his life. In fact, he’d go as far as to say he deserves it. Hence, he will not back down on this one.
“Give me a break, love. Your ceilings are very high and your living room’s big enough to host a formal ball. Anything smaller than this will look like a measly effort—and you know how I feel about half measures.”
Richard chuckles and pulls him in for a kiss. “Half measures are for half-people,” he quotes sagely.
“So you do listen,” Taron replies, kissing his cheek and turning back to look at the tree. “Come on, it’s beautiful. It’ll look incredible in the corner by the fireplace.”
Richard sighs. “Fine, I suppose it will. It will also take ages to decorate.”
“Which is a great thing,” Taron immediately provides, “because we have many Christmasses to catch up on and you love me very much and you are bouncing off the walls at the idea of spending time listening to festive tunes and drinking hot chocolate while hanging baubles on this beautiful tree, right?” He says that whole thing in one single breath, looking adoringly up at Richard. He is being cheeky, sure, but he also means every single word.
“Right.” Richard’s chest puffs up a tad, and Taron feels the brief silence filling up with meaning. It must be the giddiness of the holiday season, surely, and the fact they’re finally spending one together as a proper couple. He can feel it too: it’s an all-consuming kind of happiness. “I really can’t wait.”
“Good man,” Taron says, patting the small of his back and taking a step away from him, craning his neck to see whether he can find anyone who could help them get the tree out of its spot. He is unsuccessful, and he feels Richard’s eyes on him the entire time, so he turns back and asks, “What?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking. Will it be alright without much water?”
Taron raises a confused eyebrow. “Are you planning on parching it?”
“Of course not, but… we won’t be home much this month, will we?”
Taron opens his mouth, then closes it. Well. They are going to spend Christmas up in Wales, but they do have heaps of work meetings in London until then, so. “I know you might have that trip coming up, but at least one of us will be home at some point during the whole month, right? Thought we’d said we were not driving to Aber until quite late.”
Richard looks unconvinced, but still concedes. “Aye, fair point. Okay, I think my list of objections is complete and you seem to have shot them all down. Let’s get this thing.”
“Yessss,” Taron says, lacing his hands behind Richard’s neck and kissing the tip of his nose. It’s gelid and a bit red, making him shiver as his lips touch it. “My hero.”
*
Twenty minutes later.
They’re in the car, trucking down to Kingston for a gig. Richard is driving, and Taron is staring. It’s dark outside but the orange streetlights on the road are dancing across Scotland’s finest’s face and bringing out the ice and the fire in his—longer than usual, gorgeous, impossibly soft—beard and hair. Two months ago, Taron begged him to let the hair grow out, and Richard said yes. Then, they both did no-shave-November, and that was quite interesting as well. Somewhat impractical for oral sex, but very practical as far as Taron’s willingness to rub their faces together went. Last night, Taron shaved it all off; Richard didn’t.
“God you’re handsome,” Taron says, out of the blue, piping up over the mellow crooning of Marcus Mumford’s caramel smooth tones coming out of the stereo.
Richard glances sideways at him and smirks, one hand leaving the wheel and reaching between them above the gear stick. Taron grabs it. “Shush, you.”
“You know I mean it, don’t you? You’re gorgeous. Dare I say perfect? Dunno if you’d noticed, but I’m kind of obsessed.”
“With…?”
Right. It’s something they both like a lot, Taron has noticed: making the other spell it out. Forcing each other to be blunt, explicit. Earnest. “As if you didn’t know. With you, muppet.”
“My face? It’s the beard, ain’t it?”
“Nah, it’s not just your face. It’s… your entire deal, here. You’re literally glowing.”
“The skincare seems to be working, actually,” Richard says, smiling broadly. “Can’t thank you enough for those recommendations.”
“Oh, please, Dickie. You know I’m not just talking about that. I mean… Whatever you’ve got going on, it’s working like a charm.”
“You know what I’ve got going on, actually,” Richard replies, squeezing his hand.
Taron’s heart swells up a tad, and he instinctively reaches to touch his lobe, the tip of his index finger teasing at the silver hoop there. He knows perfectly well what Richard means, but two can play tug of war. “I’m not sure I do.”
Something else that has happened in the course of the past few months is that they’ve both learnt to gracefully lose at this game. So, Richard sighs and immediately says, “It’s you, obviously. You’re making me better, duck.”
Taron clutches his chest and brings Richard’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Thank you for that. And same here, by the way.”
“And I know I’m a grump ninety percent of the time, but I promise I am really excited to have a proper festive time together,” Richard adds, his hand cupping Taron’s face as they come to a standstill at red light.
“And decorate your mansion—”
“—it’s no’ a mansion.”
“Shhh, it’s alright. That house is literally the one good thing to have come out of your sombre Marvel parenthesis, embrace it.” Taron pauses for a beat, giving time for the perhaps too harsh statement to hit home. When Richard just shrugs in assent, he knows that therapy’s been working. “As I was saying. Decorate your mansion from top to bottom, wear ridiculous festive jumpers, make comfort food and watch Christmas movies with a lit fire to warm us up?”
“That sounds heavenly,” Richard replies.
“Damn right it does. I bloody love Christmas.”
“And I bloody love you.”