Fic - Watching Him - PG
Title: Watching Him
Character(s): Lester, Cutter
Warnings: None known
Rating: PG
Beta(s): None - Brit checking & critique appreciated!
Author's Notes: The product of Knitekat's 'encouragement' the other night for PriWriMo. We confused ourselves talking about wings or something and yeah...
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine, don't sue!
Summary: A brief interlude of a slightly different version of S1...
Lester was about to knock on Professor Cutter's open door when he caught sight of the man and paused, hand in mid-air. Cutter was hunched over a desk; papers, books, and odd pieces of bone strewn everywhere, muttering to himself and scribbling madly. He was standing, too, which didn't look terribly comfortable, but the nearest chair appeared to be covered in... Well, Lester wasn't exactly sure. That in itself wasn't terribly distracting, but the way the light from the setting sun shone in through the window and struck the other man's pale gold feathers was. Cutter's wings were folded in and hunched, some trailing primaries looked askew, and it all made him look terribly harried.
None of that changed the fact that Cutter did have very nice wings, if Lester said so himself. They were broad and sweeping; he clearly came from owl stock. Almost unconsciously, Lester traced the curves of the wings with his eyes, trailing down to eye the main joint where wing met body. Cloth hid the muscle there but, as the incident with the giant centipede had proved, it was there and Cutter was in excellent shape for flying. Not many academics were, really, and Lester couldn't help but wonder if it was Hart's influence.
A surprisingly Scottish 'ahem' startled him out of his contemplative reverie. He jumped a little, and fought back the urge to blush madly and babble like a schoolgirl. Cutter was looking at him, having apparently turned around scarce moments ago, and an amused smirk graced his face. Lester met his gaze steadily and let his hand drop from the air.
"Professor," he acknowledged.
"Did you want something?" Cutter asked.
Yes, you naked and bent over that desk of yours, was his thought, but Lester gave himself a mental shake and a stern telling-off in the voice of his ex-wife. Sleeping with colleagues - with subordinates, especially civilians - was out of the question. Clearing his throat, he stepped into the room, trying his best not to step on - or trip over - anything.
"Yes, about that report..."
Character(s): Lester, Cutter
Warnings: None known
Rating: PG
Beta(s): None - Brit checking & critique appreciated!
Author's Notes: The product of Knitekat's 'encouragement' the other night for PriWriMo. We confused ourselves talking about wings or something and yeah...
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine, don't sue!
Summary: A brief interlude of a slightly different version of S1...
Lester was about to knock on Professor Cutter's open door when he caught sight of the man and paused, hand in mid-air. Cutter was hunched over a desk; papers, books, and odd pieces of bone strewn everywhere, muttering to himself and scribbling madly. He was standing, too, which didn't look terribly comfortable, but the nearest chair appeared to be covered in... Well, Lester wasn't exactly sure. That in itself wasn't terribly distracting, but the way the light from the setting sun shone in through the window and struck the other man's pale gold feathers was. Cutter's wings were folded in and hunched, some trailing primaries looked askew, and it all made him look terribly harried.
None of that changed the fact that Cutter did have very nice wings, if Lester said so himself. They were broad and sweeping; he clearly came from owl stock. Almost unconsciously, Lester traced the curves of the wings with his eyes, trailing down to eye the main joint where wing met body. Cloth hid the muscle there but, as the incident with the giant centipede had proved, it was there and Cutter was in excellent shape for flying. Not many academics were, really, and Lester couldn't help but wonder if it was Hart's influence.
A surprisingly Scottish 'ahem' startled him out of his contemplative reverie. He jumped a little, and fought back the urge to blush madly and babble like a schoolgirl. Cutter was looking at him, having apparently turned around scarce moments ago, and an amused smirk graced his face. Lester met his gaze steadily and let his hand drop from the air.
"Professor," he acknowledged.
"Did you want something?" Cutter asked.
Yes, you naked and bent over that desk of yours, was his thought, but Lester gave himself a mental shake and a stern telling-off in the voice of his ex-wife. Sleeping with colleagues - with subordinates, especially civilians - was out of the question. Clearing his throat, he stepped into the room, trying his best not to step on - or trip over - anything.
"Yes, about that report..."