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The dichotomy of the two temperatures that greet Shanks as he begins to crawl his way back to consciousness is almost as offensive an atrocity as the sharp two-toned whistle of the cardinals outside the window. Both of them were dragging his mind to the surface much to meet the morning much faster than he wants to.
My nose is cold. It's the first thought that is semi-coherent, but his limbs refuse to listen to his commands to help him turn and bury his face into the inviting warmth beside him. They feel as heavy as lead, but in the end, it isn't something he needs to concern himself with. The warm arms around him tug him closer as if he weights nothing, and it takes minimal movement from Shanks to rectify the annoyance that the cold brings.
The usual cacophony of sounds from outside is suspiciously absent, probably muted by the snowfall that had started the night before. The sunlight didn't even touch him from the East-facing window, so it had probably frosted over again. The mass of warmth shifts again, and Shanks grumbles. His eyes feel like they're glued closed, but judging by the chuckle that rings though the room, his displeasure is clear regardless.
The arms wrap around him a little tighter, and warm lips press against his forehead. The soft smell of tobacco that lingers on Beck is comforting, and it could almost lure him back to sleep. Unfortunately, the choice to lie in bed all day with his husband isn't his choice to make. Strong calloused hands begin to rub away the numbness of sleep from his muscles, and he begrudgingly has to acknowledge that he's awake.
"We have things to do, Red." Beck's voice is barely above a whisper, but it's clear of most of the morning deepness he usually has. He must have been up for at least twenty minutes.
Shanks grumbles against his chest. "I don't wannaaaaaa." It's much whinier than he intends for it to be, but he knows he'll regret moving from under the covers the moment he actually does so. Once again, the choice is not his to make. The blanket is carelessly tossed onto the floor, and Shanks's toes quickly becomes as frozen as his nose. "Beeeeeeck."
"A lot of stuff still has to be finished before the party tonight." Beck is already pulling away slowly, and while normally, he could be convinced to stay for an hour or two more, there were plans. Plans meant that Benn Beckmann would not budge for anything until the two of them had done everything they said they would.
Shanks is going to try anyways, and if he gets called a petulant child for it, then so be it. "Aren't the kids taking care of it this year?" When he opens his eyes, he met with the exact blank look he'd pictured in his head.
"Some of it," Beck says, "but we have stuff to do as well. Or did you forget we agreed to host and more importantly feed all their friends too?"
"Fiiiine." The word is drawn out for as long as his quick breath of cold air will allow, and Shanks rolls off the bed, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. He hits the floor with a heavy thud, but the lack of expletives from the fall keeps Beck from being concerned.
Within a few minutes, both of them are ruffling through the dresser, opting for the unusual choice of thick socks first to keep the cold of the floor from seeping through to their skin. Shanks is quick to wiggle his working arm into his red button up, letting the backside hang until Beck finishes dressing himself. A black sock with rows of green Christmas trees and red bows on presents is slid across the amputated nub of Shanks's left arm, and as soon as Beck helps him get the sleeve over it, Beck rolls the cuff up until the sock is visible. His lips graze across it so gently that Shanks can barely feel it, but he returns the soft kiss with one to Beck's temple—It's their silent "thank you" and "you're welcome."
Shanks's buttons are quickly done up by Beck's deft fingers, allowing for just enough time for him to wiggle mostly into his pants. We're gonna have to cook so much food...
The walk downstairs is mostly silent, a rarity in a household with four chaotic college kids, but they seem to have been taking their assigned tasks seriously is the lack of shoes by the door is any indication. All their car keys are missing as well, meaning they've all gone in different directions. Shanks doesn't want to think about the mahem that might lead to. Ace, Sabo, Uta, and Luffy are all adults, and if they really need help, they'll call.
All of the downstairs windows have frosted over thoroughly, and the chill leaches into the air of the old house. "I'll start the fire in a few," Beck mumbles. He presses a warm cup of coffee into Shanks's hands, and he holds his own slightly against the nubbin. Shanks lets out a soft breath and leans into it, hoping that the heat will hold for awhile in the sock. His arm had always ached more in the winter.
They stand huddled close together until their cups are empty, the caffeine quickly doing it's job. This is when Shanks leaves the kitchen and begins carrying out his plan. He's been banned from trying to cook much more than simple meals lest he burn the kitchen down, so he won't be allowed back until later anyways.
Shanks pulls a box out of the hallways closet that usually goes untouched, and he grins to himself. Buried with the Christmas stuff is a pack of fifty fake mistletoe plants and a staple gun, exactly where he thought he left them. There wouldn't be an inch of the house that wasn't primed for hilarious awkward kisses, or potentially even fights.
He can't wait.
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Shanks had ditched his socks about an hour ago. The fire in the living room could warm the whole house up in no time, and he had started to sweat while working on his prank. Forty-nine of the fifty fake plants had been stapled into doorways or random spots on the ceiling, but the last of them is missing. Shanks Even went room to room to double check his count.
Oh well, it's not like having one less will ruin the prank.
He's graciously allowed into the kitchen to slice cheese and meats for their over sized charcuterie set up not long after he tucks the step ladder away. Beck doesn't comment on the prank, so Shanks assumes he won't breath a word ahead of time. After all, his husband enjoys the chaos just as much.
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The fire may have been a bit too much when there's upwards of seventy people flittering around the house. It had grown much too warm for Shanks's liking very quickly. The porch ends up being the perfect place to remedy that problem.
The only issue with his solution is that now he's cold again. If I stay here for a few more minutes, then then I shouldn't overheat for a bit.
Behind him, there's a loud cacophony of cheering, and his heart sinks as he realizes he walked out just before his prank was discovered. The cheering continues, and Shanks whips around to try and get a peak from behind the corner. He's unsuccessful, but not for lack of trying.
Beck's warm arms wrap around him once more, scooping him up and holding him in place, "Nope."
Shanks stares at him for a moment, jaw slack in shock. "You're not gonna let me watch the chaos unfold?"
"I will." Beck's mouth curves upwards into a satisfied smirk, and he points above them, where a piece of mistletoe is hung neatly on the doorframe. "but you have to play by the rules of your own game first."
"Huh," Shanks mutters, "I didn't put that one there." His own face splits into a grin as he realizes he didn't miscount.
Beck snorts, "No, you didn't. I swiped one while you weren't paying attention." He only gives Shanks a moment to process before curling his arm around the small of Shanks's back and dipping him backwards dramatically. The press of their lips together is soft, but so warm in the frigid air. Shanks's hand tangles in his hair, pulling him closer and clinging all at once, but Beck would never drop him.
Shanks can feel the way Beck's lips crack as he smiles against his lips, but it's no different from how it's always been.
"Now we can go watch the chaos," Beck whispers, lips still grazing Shanks's with every movement.
Shanks laughs softly and readjusts his grip. "Nah, I'm sure the kids will have it all on film." He places another soft kiss on his husband's lips, "I think I should follow the rules of the game a little more." Another kiss follows as easy as breathing, and with the continued cheers in the other room, they both know it's unlikely they'll be missed.