(no subject)
Title: Trapped.
Author: Caitie.
Disclaimer: I’m a lying liar.
Pairing: Timo Hildebrand/Philipp Lahm
Rating: PG
Summary: Timo Hildebrand is trapped. Not in a tortured, metaphorical way - he’s physically trapped.
Author's Note: A rambly, ambiguously time-framed drabble thing from CAITIE? Noooo. (Basically, I’m extremely predictable.)
Timo Hildebrand is trapped.
Not in a tortured, metaphorical way - he’s physically trapped. Namely by one, Philipp Lahm. He’s completely pinned to the too-small bed, in what appears to be a particularly aggressive snuggle gone horribly wrong somewhere in the murky depths of REM sleep.
“Philipp,” he says, quietly (but firmly -- always firm, firmness is key), “you’re crushing my arm, and I need that. It’s important.”
His bedmate responds with a long and blissful sigh, but no words, and only the merest flutter of lashes to signal that he has even heard.
“…For my job.” Timo adds, as though this will make a difference. “I need it for my job.” It’s not exactly the most persuasive of statements, but he’s far too busy making an impromptu mental note (work on building up more of a tolerance for vaguely sexual noises being used to distract from important tasks at hand) to come up with anything more stirring.
Philipp shifts slightly, finally deigning to tilt his head and give Timo a knee-meltingly drowsy eyed and endearing look. “If you’re getting up,” (his voice has not yet lost the breathiness of sleep, and Timo is quickly finding it harder and harder to concentrate on the actual words being formed) “bring back some toast, all right?”
And then, with little more than a deft roll over, Philipp simultaneously frees the arm in question, and somehow manages to cocoon himself in what seems to be all of the available blankets on the bed.
“I can’t believe everyone still thinks you’re so innocent,” Timo says -- unable to even fake venom properly.
“Mmmmhmm,” is the extremely unhelpful and, once again, vaguely sexual noise from underneath the mountain of quilts.
And, so, Timo goes to plug in the toaster.
Author: Caitie.
Disclaimer: I’m a lying liar.
Pairing: Timo Hildebrand/Philipp Lahm
Rating: PG
Summary: Timo Hildebrand is trapped. Not in a tortured, metaphorical way - he’s physically trapped.
Author's Note: A rambly, ambiguously time-framed drabble thing from CAITIE? Noooo. (Basically, I’m extremely predictable.)
Timo Hildebrand is trapped.
Not in a tortured, metaphorical way - he’s physically trapped. Namely by one, Philipp Lahm. He’s completely pinned to the too-small bed, in what appears to be a particularly aggressive snuggle gone horribly wrong somewhere in the murky depths of REM sleep.
“Philipp,” he says, quietly (but firmly -- always firm, firmness is key), “you’re crushing my arm, and I need that. It’s important.”
His bedmate responds with a long and blissful sigh, but no words, and only the merest flutter of lashes to signal that he has even heard.
“…For my job.” Timo adds, as though this will make a difference. “I need it for my job.” It’s not exactly the most persuasive of statements, but he’s far too busy making an impromptu mental note (work on building up more of a tolerance for vaguely sexual noises being used to distract from important tasks at hand) to come up with anything more stirring.
Philipp shifts slightly, finally deigning to tilt his head and give Timo a knee-meltingly drowsy eyed and endearing look. “If you’re getting up,” (his voice has not yet lost the breathiness of sleep, and Timo is quickly finding it harder and harder to concentrate on the actual words being formed) “bring back some toast, all right?”
And then, with little more than a deft roll over, Philipp simultaneously frees the arm in question, and somehow manages to cocoon himself in what seems to be all of the available blankets on the bed.
“I can’t believe everyone still thinks you’re so innocent,” Timo says -- unable to even fake venom properly.
“Mmmmhmm,” is the extremely unhelpful and, once again, vaguely sexual noise from underneath the mountain of quilts.
And, so, Timo goes to plug in the toaster.