Fic: Below the Surface (Whitechapel, Joe Chandler)
Fandom: Whitechapel
Title: Below the Surface
Author: chlare
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: No pairing, DI Joe Chandler
Summary: Joe is a hard man to know, and he knows it.
Word Count: nearly 500
Warnings/Spoilers: Masturbation
Disclaimer: Characters herein do not belong to me. No profit or copyright infringement intended.
A/N: In honor of the last day of mmom. Cross-posted to AO3.
Under the Surface
This is easy. For Joe, snaking his hand down while he's in the shower, palming his balls, his cock... this is so much easier than a relationship.
Not because he's a complete prat and doesn't want to be faithful - that he would absolutely need to have in order to survive an actual relationship. Possibly it would be the reason things would fall apart. They would accuse him of being unwilling to deal with change, clingy even, if his partner ever wanted out. Use it against him - when the actual case is that he's tried very hard to turn things around these last few years.
He pulls on his cock as the warm drops hit him, fingers lingering to feel the way his prick lengthens and thickens, standing up eagerly to be touched, cosseted, massaged and wanting long, slim fingers wrapped around it so snugly as to be a second skin.
It's so much easier than letting someone in, letting anyone see what he's really like beneath the Savile Row three-piece suits, the bottle of 1872 cologne in his ensuite, the neat row of cufflinks in his top drawer. He doubts they'd understand the stacks of white towels filling a single cupboard, or the dry-cleaned, plastic-sealed white shirts - the two in his car, the three in his office drawer. He doubts they'd understand the expense of having two of all his cleansers, in case he runs low. He very much doubts they would understand the annihilated light switch in his office, and all the implications that come with that. His demons aren't always quiet little counted pins.
Joe curls a hand against the spotless shower wall and leans on it, tugging his cock faster now, fantasizing of what it might be like if someone did understand all of that, and accepted it. Accepted him. All of him. The planes of his back and shoulders shifting, muscles flexing as he wanks. He imagines what it might be like if there was someone who pressed up behind in the shower now, instead of in the bed they shared because they knew it would make him sleep easier. He rubs his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock and his jaw drops open in a gasp, thinking how amazing it would be if-- he could relax with that person. If some of his rituals went by the wayside because he'd have someone to trust, someone to make him feel safe, someone who wouldn't leave.
His hips jerk and he looks at the ceiling, eyes closing as he sucks in a long breath, knowing the mess will be gone by the time he looks down. He washes a second time, closing his eyes again and breathing in the clean scent. He doesn't really believe there's someone like that out there, but he let's himself have these few moments to imagine what it might be like if there were.
Title: Below the Surface
Author: chlare
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: No pairing, DI Joe Chandler
Summary: Joe is a hard man to know, and he knows it.
Word Count: nearly 500
Warnings/Spoilers: Masturbation
Disclaimer: Characters herein do not belong to me. No profit or copyright infringement intended.
A/N: In honor of the last day of mmom. Cross-posted to AO3.
Under the Surface
This is easy. For Joe, snaking his hand down while he's in the shower, palming his balls, his cock... this is so much easier than a relationship.
Not because he's a complete prat and doesn't want to be faithful - that he would absolutely need to have in order to survive an actual relationship. Possibly it would be the reason things would fall apart. They would accuse him of being unwilling to deal with change, clingy even, if his partner ever wanted out. Use it against him - when the actual case is that he's tried very hard to turn things around these last few years.
He pulls on his cock as the warm drops hit him, fingers lingering to feel the way his prick lengthens and thickens, standing up eagerly to be touched, cosseted, massaged and wanting long, slim fingers wrapped around it so snugly as to be a second skin.
It's so much easier than letting someone in, letting anyone see what he's really like beneath the Savile Row three-piece suits, the bottle of 1872 cologne in his ensuite, the neat row of cufflinks in his top drawer. He doubts they'd understand the stacks of white towels filling a single cupboard, or the dry-cleaned, plastic-sealed white shirts - the two in his car, the three in his office drawer. He doubts they'd understand the expense of having two of all his cleansers, in case he runs low. He very much doubts they would understand the annihilated light switch in his office, and all the implications that come with that. His demons aren't always quiet little counted pins.
Joe curls a hand against the spotless shower wall and leans on it, tugging his cock faster now, fantasizing of what it might be like if someone did understand all of that, and accepted it. Accepted him. All of him. The planes of his back and shoulders shifting, muscles flexing as he wanks. He imagines what it might be like if there was someone who pressed up behind in the shower now, instead of in the bed they shared because they knew it would make him sleep easier. He rubs his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock and his jaw drops open in a gasp, thinking how amazing it would be if-- he could relax with that person. If some of his rituals went by the wayside because he'd have someone to trust, someone to make him feel safe, someone who wouldn't leave.
His hips jerk and he looks at the ceiling, eyes closing as he sucks in a long breath, knowing the mess will be gone by the time he looks down. He washes a second time, closing his eyes again and breathing in the clean scent. He doesn't really believe there's someone like that out there, but he let's himself have these few moments to imagine what it might be like if there were.