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Title: We Set Our Clocks Early
Author: [livejournal.com profile] fleurdelisee
Word Count: ~3,900
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, Pete/Patrick
POV: 3rd
Summary: ”We suck at this waking-up-to-an-alarm thing.”
Disclaimer: Never happened as far as I know. If you stumbled upon this by Googling your name (seriously, don't you know it was a bad idea?), please, for the love of everything that's good, go away.
Author Notes: Un-beta'd so excuse the frightfulness. This was inspired by a prompt given by [livejournal.com profile] devilswhore_x: Hmm *thinks* how about alarm clocks? Rest of the prompt under the cut, she kind of wrote the whole plot by herself.

Like, Bden and Ryan enjoy being all comfy in bed and they don't wanna wake up
(obviously, who ever does?) so when the alarm clock goes off Ryan gets all pissed off
and tantrums until Bden throws it at the wall and it breaks. Which means they have to
go shopping (YAY!) to get a new one. Except this happens nearly every day because they're
faily husbands. And it can have extras like JonandSpencer yelling at them
and PeteandPatrick who laugh at them.

Pete grins at his own cleverness as he pads down the hallway of Brendon and Ryan's house. He managed to escape their attention and run away. He wonders how long he has until they get sick of Patrick fangirling over the records they own and start wondering where he went.

He shrugs it off as he opens a closet in the hallway. He's pretty sure he remembers Brendon saying he had to use random closets through the house to store his clothes because Ryan took all the space in their room's. There are some of Brendon's shirts he wants to 'borrow' from him. Hey, he signed them, it's like he paid this house for them, Brendon owes him a few shirts.

Pete frowns as he sees a pile of shoes messily thrown at the bottom of the otherwise empty closet. It would be useless to try to run away with some of their shoes, Ryan's feet are ten feet long and Brendon's are just this inch longer than Pete's that makes it uncomfortable for him to wear them.

He closes it and goes further down the hallway. He opens the next one and nearly falls under the avalanche of broomsticks and cleaning products. Brendon's probably the last one who had to clean the house. He closes it again and sighs annoyingly. He hears a faint call of his name, making him walk faster towards the next one.

The first thing he notices is this huge thing he guesses to be a carpet cleaner, though he never saw one in his entire life. He stops for a second and tries to see where in their house they have carpeted floor. He concludes on 'no where' and chuckles.

He's about to close the door when his eyes catch a flash of colors on the top shelf. He stands on the tip of his toes and scrunches up his face.

“Pete?” he hears Ryan say, close. “Pete? Where the hell did you go?”

“Dude,” Pete says, unsure if he has the right to laugh right now. “Dude. You have like six alarm clocks in there.”

“Um. It's—What are you doing in my closet?” Ryan blurts out, his face going a little bit red.

“Ry? Did you find him? Don't tell me he's about to steal my clothes again, I'm seriously going to kill him if he runs away with my favorite shirts again!” Brendon says loudly, appearing next to Ryan seconds later.

“He found the, um.” Ryan points faintly at the closet and Brendon bursts out laughing.

“What the hell is going on in this hallway?” Patrick asks as he approaches.

“Trick, you won't believe this, they are hiding six fucking alarm clocks in their closet!” Pete says through his fit of giggles.

“Is this some kind of sick kink I don't want to know about?” Patrick's eyes shift between Ryan and Brendon, confusion and worries etched all over his face.

“No!” Ryan strongly gasps, reaching forward to try to close the door but Pete holds it open.

“No, seriously, what is this?” Pete asks once he stopped giggling like a schoolgirl at Ryan's red face and Brendon's silent laughter.

Brendon takes a deep breath to stop laughing before speaking.

“It all started when...”


Ryan groans as the annoying alarm clock (when the hell did they buy one?) goes off. Next to him, Brendon mumbles something and pulls the cover further up over his head. Whatever he said, Ryan is pretty sure he agrees with it, as it must go along the lines of 'what the hell is this I wanna sleep make it stop Ry'.

So Ryan makes it stop, or tries to. He aims for the snooze button but his sleep-clumsy arm refuses to listen to him and instead knocks the damn thing off of the nightstand. Brendon jumps hard at the loud clatter and he groans, pushing at Ryan a few times in protest.

“Stop it and sleep, asshole,” Ryan mutters before burying his face in Brendon's neck, sighing happily.

“Why did this thing even exist in our house in the first place?”

“I don't know. I don't remember. I want sleep,” Brendon whispers, almost asleep.

When Ryan wakes up again, he doesn't understand why at first. He feels Brendon stirring next to him, which gives him the hint that something must be the cause though he doesn't hear what.

“Ry, your phone,” Brendon grunts, flailing his arm that's resting across Ryan's chest to try to reach it.

“Um, what?” Ryan says sleepily before yawning loudly. As he wakes up, he finally hears his ringtone and the annoying sound created by the phone vibrating against a hard surface.

“What time is it?” he yawns again and stretches lazily.

“I don't fucking know, Ryan. You murdered our clock and even if it was still alive, I'm farsighted and I cannot see past your face without my glasses. Will you answer your goddamn phone or will I have to throw it across the room to make it stop ringing?” Brendon snaps, moving away from Ryan.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” He always forgets about Brendon's bad mood when he doesn't wake up on his own.

Ryan picks it up with one hand, the other pulling Brendon closer and rubbing circles on his bare back as he frowns at the caller ID.

“Spencer?” Ryan asks Brendon, who shrugs and yawns loudly before extending his arm and taking the phone out of Ryan's hand.

“Spence?” he answers and immediately his face changes. He hits the speaker button and puts the phone on his pillow.

”... oh my god you guys I'm seriously going to murder you! And Jon will help, won't you Jon? He says he will. Don't tell me you didn't hear the fucking alarm clock, I put it at the maximum volume it could go! You were supposed to meet us at nine for an interview! We had to do it alone and invent a lie to explain why the both of you weren't there, at the same time, do you know how awkward that was? No you don't because you lazy assholes weren't fucking there! Do I know what the hell you meant in this or that song? Fuck no, I'm only the fucking drummer and Jon wasn't there when you wrote them. It was the worst interview we ever gave! If you tell me you weren't there because you were banging I am so kicking you out of this band. Fuck you both,” Spencer finishes and hangs up.

“Fuck,” Brendon whispers with a small laugh.

“They'll come around soon. Just give them puppy dog eyes next time they come over. This alarm clock though,” Ryan replies before looking down at the ground next to the bed. “I really fucking murdered it.”

Brendon climbs over him to look at the ground and laughs. “Yeah, you did. We need a new one. Can we get one of those that make animal sounds?” Brendon grins up at Ryan, his bad mood gone, thankfully.

“Fuck no, I am not waking up to fucking mooing,” Ryan snaps as he pushes Brendon away to get up.

“I shotgun the first shower,” Ryan adds, ignoring Brendon's cry of 'wedding'. Ryan expected him to be over this whole 'when I say shotgun you say wedding' thing by now. But you know, it's Brendon.

As soon as they step in the department shop, Ryan looks around them swiftly, scanning the place to see if the way is clear. He hates going in those fangirls infested places without Zack. He's maybe a little scared of fangirls.

“They're still in school at this time, stop worrying. Let's go,” Brendon sighs with a smile as he drags him towards the home hardware department. “Oh wait—” he slows down to peer at something in the aisle next to them.

“No. Whatever you saw, I'm pretty convinced we don't need it.”

“But it was blue and shiny! I've always wanted one of these!”

“Brendon, the fact that all of our furnitures are either red, brown or orange didn't cross your mind, did it? Blue.” He rolls his eyes and tugs Brendon forward. “That's why I hate shopping with you. Come on, I'd like to get out of here today.”

Ryan might hate these huge, noisy and crowded stores more than fangirls.

“You know what I'd like? I'd like to get one of those in which you can plug your iPod and wake up to music, you know? I hate buzzers and I know you do too, and waking up to the radio means ninety-five percent changes to get some boring song stuck in your head all day. It would be awesome to be able to wake up, to, like, The Beach Boys or The Beatles, what do you think?”

Ryan nods, a little bit spaced out as he usually gets when Brendon starts thinking out loud.

When they enter the right aisle, Ryan sighs and says goodbye to all of the plans he had made for the rest of the day. There are more different alarm clocks than he can count, and Brendon's eyes are already huge and glistening as he looks at the childish ones.

“Don't even think about it,” Ryan snaps as the younger boy takes a bright yellow box in his hand with SpongeBob's smiling face on the front.

“But he's awesome!”

Brendon. Do you seriously want me to explain to you why we won't get this one? It includes a lot of snapping and reminders of how much Spencer will make fun of us forever and how no one will ever take us seriously ever again. All the respect we ever earned will disappear and I will be in a bad mood forever. Is that what you want?”

Stomping his foot on the ground was totally unplanned, thank you very much. Fuck, this is awkward.

“Ry... This is an alarm clock. A plastic thing that rings, shows what time it is and will be hidden in our room. So except if you bring people to our room,” Brendon pauses and stares at Ryan with wide, worried eyes, “no one will see this. And I was kidding, I'm not five anymore. Did you stomp your feet?” Brendon giggles, pushing Ryan's shoulder playfully as he blushes and mumbles something along the lines of 'shut the fuck up asshole'.

After thirty minutes of arguing in the middle of the aisle, getting odd looks from the people crossing them (because, seriously, they were way too intense in their argument over a freaking alarm clock) they leave with one of those freaking expensive iPod ones, Brendon's grin smug and proud.

Ryan's the winner, really, because he totally gets a blow job in exchange of agreeing to buy this thing.

The first time they set it to wake them up at eight (the next morning they are going to have breakfast with Pete who's in town for a few days) Brendon forgets to plug his iPod.

The loud buzzer wakes them up roughly. Before Brendon can even react and try to shut it to avoid the massacre that will be Ryan's reaction to it, Ryan is swinging his arm in his usual clumsy way and knocking it to the ground. This time though, he winces as he hears it crash to the ground and rolls on his stomach to look down.

“Fuck,” he whispers, rolling on his back to look at Brendon while biting his lip. “Fuck. Brendon? It's dead.”

“It was fucking expensive you fucking idiot!” Brendon snaps, crawling over Ryan chest to look down at the bits of plastic scattered across the floor.

“Sorry,” Ryan mutters, his breath tickling Brendon's skin as he buries his face in his neck. “Sorry,” he repeats, this time kissing a trail down Brendon's collarbone. “We'll buy another one, it doesn't matter. Forgive me B.”

“I'm not mad at you. I just,” Brendon pauses and bites his lip, a smile growing on his face as he stares at Ryan's huge, pleading eyes. “No, you're right, it doesn't matter.”

Ryan hums in agreement, his smiling lips pressing repeatedly at Brendon's skin. This is Brendon's favorite Ryan, the carefree, relaxed one who only appears in the morning or the afterglow. He threads his fingers in Ryan's soft curls and lets himself be rolled over.

“Do we really have to go? We could tell Pete we slept in,” Ryan speaks, his lips pressed to Brendon's chest.

“He would know for sure,” Brendon replies, arching into the kisses that are getting more and more insistent.

“So what? He knows we have sex. I'm not the only one to want it,” Ryan says, his hand moving from Brendon's bare hip to his growing erection.

Brendon squirms and breathes out sharply.


“Um?” Ryan hums, his lips still tracing up and down Brendon's chest. Brendon's breath itches when Ryan takes his left nipple between his teeth.

“Ry—fuck. Pete will be pissed off, stop.”

“You sure you want me to stop?” Ryan wraps his lips around the nipple as soon as he is done talking, sucking and licking it slowly.

“Oh fuck it. But you top, you tell him why we're late,” Brendon states mischievously.

Ryan's head snaps up, his eyes narrowed and a smirk on his face. In a flash, he is on his back and pulling at Brendon.

“I like this better,” Brendon whispers before locking his lips with Ryan's.

They are only ten minutes late to the restaurant (Brendon is pretty convinced his seventeen years of religious practice are why they saw no cops on their way. Ryan says the past four years erased whatever mercy God may have had over him and that if they didn't see any cops it's only their usual luck).

The next day, while Brendon is out with Shane and Jon to take pictures - “You mean to annoy the fuck out of them until they lock you in the car, right?” “Fuck you Ryan, you cannot lock someone in a car.” - Ryan goes back to the store and buys the same model of clock he accidentally broke.

When Shane drops him home late at night (saying he will worship Ryan forever from now on because he endures Brendon all the time without complaining) Brendon immediately notices the box on the coffee table. His huge smile is totally worth the cringe-worthy amount of money it cost Ryan. Twice.

The next time they have to use it, Brendon plugs his iPod in. It's not his fault if they didn't hear it.

Ryan wakes up to a coughing fit. He rubs Brendon's back a few times and kisses the top of his head before pulling him even closer and trying to get back to sleep.

“G'morning,” Brendon whispers, his face buried in Ryan's shoulder.

“Hey,” Ryan yawns. “Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?”

“Mm, it's nice of you to offer but I'm fine. Why?” he asks as he presses lazy soft kisses to Ryan's skin.

“You were coughing pretty badly.” Ryan threads his fingers through Brendon's hair and starts massaging his scalp softly.

“I didn't cough, I thought you did.”

Ryan opens his eyes and meets Brendon's wide and worried ones.

“Good morning!”

They both jump as Jon's voice rings through the room. Another coughing fit draws Ryan's eyes on Spencer, sitting at the end of their bed, with his back against the frame. Next to him, Jon is smiling at them, a magazine opened on his crossed legs.

Ryan stares at them in shock, quickly yanking the covers over himself in a very girlish manner, balling his fists into them and holding them under his chin. He should have gotten out of bed to grab his underwear after they had sex the night before. He should have, but Brendon wouldn't let him go.

“Hey!” Brendon says casually, rolling on his back, stretching and showing way too much skin for Ryan's liking.

For Spencer and Jon's too, apparently, from the way they both averted their eyes from Brendon's exposed pubes. Ryan grunts and pulls the covers up Brendon's stomach so they at least reach his belly button. Spencer thanks Ryan, who rolls his eyes and kicks him.

“What are you two doing here? We are meeting--” Ryan turns his head to check the time, “--three hours ago,” he finishes, deflated. “Sorry.”

“We probably didn't hear it. We suck at this waking-up-to-an-alarm thing,” Brendon says in a laugh before snuggling into Ryan's side. “We love sleeping too much.”

“No, you love cuddling too much to get out of bed,” Jon comments, raising a meaningful eyebrow at how they somehow ended clinging to each other in a few seconds.

Ryan thinks about moving away, his usual relaxed morning-mood ruined by Spencer and Jon's scrutinizing eyes. He feels Brendon stroking his shoulder softly and turns his head to meet Brendon's sleepy smile.

“B, make the mountain man go away, he is mean. I want to sleep some more,” Ryan stage-whispers causing Brendon to burst out laughing.

“You heard him? Go away,” Brendon says strongly and kicks at Jon's legs. “Go make us breakfast.”

“Fuck you, we won't. We're going to go erase all the saved games of every video game you own if you don't get out of bed. We have things to do today,” Spencer snaps.

Brendon pokes his tongue out at him before hiding under the covers, giggling.

“You have five minutes before we come and get these covers off the bed. Understood?”

“You wouldn't, we're naked,” Ryan deadpans. “You'd be too sad to find out your dicks don't compare to mine.”

“He's right, his is huge”, Brendon joins in, nodding with huge, coy eyes. “No one can beat him.”

“Shut up you two,” Spencer snaps. “Five minutes.” He gives them a pointed look before exiting the room.

“Yes, Mom,” Brendon mumbles.

Once they are gone, Ryan forces himself out of bed and walks to their closet to put clothes on.

“I wonder why it didn't wake us,” Brendon muses.

“I don't know. Did you program it?” Ryan asks as he throws clothes at Brendon.

“No, I thought you did.” Brendon pushes the jeans out of his face and props himself up on his elbows.

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment before bursting out laughing. Ryan topples on the bed and clutches his stomach.

“We fail at life,” Brendon moans playfully.

“You do!” Spencer yells from outside the room, his laughter obvious in his voice.

The second time they have to use this new alarm clock, Brendon is really worried. They have to wake up, they have a plane to catch. They cannot sleep in. They booked this trip two month ago, it's their last chance to get some rest before a very, very long time.

“Ryan!” he calls as he enters their house.

“Living room!” Ryan answers, his voice barely audible over the music he's playing loudly in the house.

Brendon walks down the hall and turns into the living room, a smile immediately blooming on his face at the sight in front of him. Ryan is standing behind the ironing board, a large pile of clothes on the couch behind him. He is ironing a pair of his pants and awkwardly swaying his hips from side to side in time with the music. One day Brendon will have to give some serious dance lessons to Ryan.

“When was the last time we did this?” Brendon asks as he eyes the pile.

“You mean when I did it, right? I'm not letting you near an iron anytime soon. Yeah, um, I don't remember. But we're leaving tomorrow and we need clean, non-wrinkled clothes. What's in those bags?”

“Um, this? Well. You know we're leaving tomorrow, right?”

“No, really? I was wondering why we had our suitcases out and half filled with our stuff,” Ryan deadpans, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, well. We fail at waking up, right? And I'm scared we'll sleep in and miss our flight. So I bought other alarm clocks. Just so, you know, they go off and we hear them.”

“Clocks?” Ryan sighs, leaving his place from behind the ironing board, a pile of folded pants in his arms.

Brendon follows him in their room and watches as he puts them carefully in his suitcase.

“Yeah, clocks, these tiny ones, just like the one we had before,” Brendon begins, biting his lip as Ryan gives him a weary look.

“How many?”

“Um. They had them in all these colors, you know and—three.”

Ryan nods with possibly a smile on his face, Brendon isn't sure yet. He's still waiting for the explosion.

“Which colors did you buy?” Ryan asks, his voice even and his back to Brendon as he is kneeling on the ground to rearrange his clothes in his suitcase.

“Err. Brown, orange and red. So it would fit in the house, you know?” Brendon bounces on his feet, chewing his lip nervously.

“Awesome. I was afraid you'd bought the same ones I did,” Ryan says happily, a large smile on his face. “I purchased the yellow, blue and green ones. I know you love these colors.”

“Stop fucking with me.”

“Mm. Later,” Ryan says around a smirk. He stops fumbling through his clothes and sits cross-legged on the ground, looking up at Brendon. “Don't look so surprised, I was afraid of the same thing than you. We're so the same, you don't even know.”

Brendon sits down in front of him, resting his right hand on Ryan's knee. “You seriously bought three alarm clocks.”

“I did, and so did you.” Ryan flashes him a large smile, one of the rare, genuine ones. “We now have seven alarm clocks. Some have many cats, but now us. Us, we're the crazy alarm clocks couple.”

“Always better than Jon and his cats,” Brendon giggles.

“Or Spence and his shoes.”


“... and did you wake up?” Patrick asks before taking a sip of his tea.

“You bet. Ryan squealed like a girl.”

“Did not,” Ryan snaps.

“Did, shut up Ross,” Brendon says in a laugh. He looks around himself and frowns. “Where's Pete?”

“Guess,” Patrick sighs and smiles as he brings his cup to his lips.
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