Spacedslash.
Yeah I know.
Wrong place.
]:
I FAIL.
But hey.
The only person that reads my fics is a friend on both journals.
xD
Title: Mornings.
Rating: PG-13, but R implied. :)
Pairing: Mike/Tim [Spaced.]
Summary: Mornings after booze and Playstation are never an easy time for Mike and Tim.
Warnings: Slash. The usual.
The last thing Tim expected to see when he rolled over was a yellow wall.
There was something oddly familiar about it, and yet... Well, something completely different about it at the same time.
It wasn't just the fact that the wall was yellow that was confusing him, but rather that it was there at all. He'd been on the Playstation with Mike, last thing he remembered.
There'd been a lot of booze, some fighting, Daisy claiming she had better things to do and stamping off, then there'd been... Nothing.
Well, nothing he remembered at least.
"Do you have my glasses?" And Tim jumped so hard he nearly shit himself. Things began to fall into place in a way that made no sense whatsoever.
"Mike?!" He eventually managed to squeak, shifting as far towards the wall as he possibly could, praying to god this was all some terrible mistake.
"Tim?!" No. Obviously that could be ruled out immediately.
"Yes..?" He eventually managed in a tiny voice, suddenly realising why the yellow wall looked so strangely familiar.
He took off Mike's shades and groaned as the world was stripped of its yellow tint and he was brought back to the drab room with a horrible, sickening thump.
"Why am I in your bed?" Mike had never been the best at subtlety, ever since they were kids he'd always seemed to just launch straight into things.
"Erm... Yeah. Well, see, I'm not quite sure about that, Mike," Tim admitted holding the shades behind him in an awkward position that was all to avoid looking at his best friend. They were taken off him with speed he'd never known Mike possessed.
"Ah... Shit." And now he was lost for words. That was never good.
"Do... Um. Do you have clothes on..?" Tim eventually tried to broach the subject carefully and there was a few seconds of silence.
"Sort of..." He muttered in the voice that meant he was lying. "Well. Socks... What about you?"
"Success! I have a t-shirt!" Tim cheered, and felt Mike raise his arms in triumph.
"Hooray!" He laughed, until Tim coughed, cutting him short abruptly. There was a brief, embarrassed pause.
"Well. Uh. Your t-shirt if you want to get specific." He moaned, burying his face against the wall.
"I didn't want to. And anyway, how'd you know it's mine?!" Indignant denial from Mike, who was never very good at accepting the obvious, as well as subtlety.
"Mike, who else has an extra large camouflage t-shirt that lives in this household?" Tim growled, and Mike didn't reply. "Exactly."
"Also... What's that smell?" He felt Mike roll over and lean in conspiratorially.
"Mike, leave it." Tim warned, praying that his friend would have the sense to just leave it to lie.
"I think I have camouflage paint on my thighs..." Mike complained, and Tim just glared directly ahead at the wall that had caused him so much discomfort this morning.
This was going to take some explaining.