ficlet: keep playing that song
So, many years ago (seriously, like three and a half years back) katienyc prompted me with this gorgeous icon: 
And here at long last is a tiny ficlet for it! Also available on AO3.
keep playing that song
When Travie walks into the club he sees Pete working hard, sweating under a knit cap and headphones like earmuffs, bopping his hips to the beat. Travie knows his boy's doing good because it takes him twenty minutes to cross the dance floor. The drums keep bam-bam-bamming, and Pete doesn't look up until Travie sets a palm between his shoulder blades. "Lay some truth on me, son," Travie yells.
Pete pulls the headphones down and tilts his head back, laughing. "There's no Santa Claus," he says. "No Santa Claus, no Easter bunny, no tooth fairy, and you are gonna die."
"Harsh," Travie comments, and swigs from his beer. "Now tell me something sweet."
Pete's grin gets even broader. "Not now," he says. "I'm working."
"You're busy?" Travie says. He curls two fingers into Pete's belt loop. Pete wiggles his hips against Travie's hold.
"I'm busy."
"I'll make this quick, then." Travie swipes Pete's cap off his head, holds it in front of their faces- just for show, it's not like anyone's fooled- and kisses him behind it. Fuck, Pete's soft mouth. But he really is working. Travie jams the cap back down over Pete's hair and steps back. "I'll see you later."
Pete's eyes are shining. "Later," he says, and it sounds like the sweetest thing Travie's heard all year.
And here at long last is a tiny ficlet for it! Also available on AO3.
keep playing that song
When Travie walks into the club he sees Pete working hard, sweating under a knit cap and headphones like earmuffs, bopping his hips to the beat. Travie knows his boy's doing good because it takes him twenty minutes to cross the dance floor. The drums keep bam-bam-bamming, and Pete doesn't look up until Travie sets a palm between his shoulder blades. "Lay some truth on me, son," Travie yells.
Pete pulls the headphones down and tilts his head back, laughing. "There's no Santa Claus," he says. "No Santa Claus, no Easter bunny, no tooth fairy, and you are gonna die."
"Harsh," Travie comments, and swigs from his beer. "Now tell me something sweet."
Pete's grin gets even broader. "Not now," he says. "I'm working."
"You're busy?" Travie says. He curls two fingers into Pete's belt loop. Pete wiggles his hips against Travie's hold.
"I'm busy."
"I'll make this quick, then." Travie swipes Pete's cap off his head, holds it in front of their faces- just for show, it's not like anyone's fooled- and kisses him behind it. Fuck, Pete's soft mouth. But he really is working. Travie jams the cap back down over Pete's hair and steps back. "I'll see you later."
Pete's eyes are shining. "Later," he says, and it sounds like the sweetest thing Travie's heard all year.