River’s accent is thicker than normal when he’s been woken up, especially from particularly deep slumber. It’s a second or two before Apollo’s equally groggy brain catches up and makes sense of what the other’s asked, and another five second before he can even muster the energy to open his eyes and check the bedside clock. The red digital readout says it’s 7:47 AM. Apollo’s internal clock says…
“It’s too early for this kind of shit.”
There’s a soft snort, and the bed shifts and the blankets shuffle while River adjusts his position in the bed, curling closer against Apollo’s back. Apollo smiles, and, for a minute, feels like he could go back to sleep. It wouldn’t take much. Their bed is warm, and comfortable, and River’s right there, cuddled close, but not so close that neither of them can be truly comfortable, and both of them can breathe. His eyes are heavy and his brain is begging him. Just another hour. Maybe two. He’ll be good to wake up, then. He’s technically an adult now, and the whole ‘getting up at the crack of dawn’ thing lost its appeal long ago.
He’s almost asleep when it starts again, and River jerks against his back, clearly just about back to sleep himself.
“DECK THE HALLS WITH BALLS OF HOLLY, FA-LA-LA-LA-LAAAAA–”
“He knows it’s 'boughs’, right?” River mutters, rolling onto his back. Apollo does the same, looking over at his husband before looking at the ceiling.
“You should know by now that if my dad can substitute 'balls’ for any word, he will.”
River laughs, softly, and it’s a beautiful sound on a morning with less than beautiful singing. “All right. True. You think he’s trying to get us up and out of bed?”
“Either that or he’s trying to get mom to kill him.” Apollo answers. Then he rolls over, throwing an arm and leg over River and snuggling into his side. “Let’s just ignore him, and–”
“–These carols sure do say a lot about gays!”
“I swear, I might kill him one of these days.”
“Your mother gets first shot.”
“And I think Ayden is next in line behind her.”
“You’re going to be waiting a while, I think.”
“Probably.”
River laughs again, and shifts in the bed, turning to plant a kiss on Apollo’s nose. “I don’t think we’re going to be getting any more sleep this morning.”
“Not with the jolly caroler out there, we’re not.” Apollo agrees. It sounds like Ashcroft is getting closer with every line of Silent Night he hollers. Soon he’s going to be at their door, and there will be no more ignoring him. “So. Merry Christmas, River.”
