[SAB Fic]: Like Rolling a Ball of Clay - K+ - 1/1
A/N: I wrote another quickie for the Let's Get Gay Married Comment Fic Meme. It was a Switched at Birth Temmett prompt for bm_shipper and I kind of, really want the pairing to become a thing, so here it is.
Title: Like Rolling a Ball of Clay
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Switched at Birth. If I did, Emmett and Toby would someday get together. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: K+ for biases about the hearing and deaf community. I am not part of the latter, but I hope I've portrayed characters realistically.
Other Notes: ~1K. Toby/Emmett, with some lightly implied Daphne/Liam. They're in their mid-twenties.
Summary: Emmett has a bad day, but a surprise proposal from his boyfriend makes everything better.
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Like Rolling a Ball of Clay
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Emmett came home with a scowl on his face. Well, to be fair, Emmett almost always came home scowling, but this time the expression was etched much deeper than usual, and for good reason.
He pulled up in front of his house, cutting past some entitled douche with a Beamer in the process, and his assistant, a speaking deaf woman named Piper, squeezed his shoulder in warning.
He craned his neck to regard her properly, watching as she got off the back of his motorcycle with wobbly legs, then shook both of his open palms in exasperation. What?
“Don't be mad,” she pleaded with him, lifting her own hand in a frenzied gesture till it masked the lower half of her face, nails reached out to scratch. “You know that not everyone can be so accepting.”
Emmett pursed his lips, recalling how his newest client's face had darkened to a garish red as soon as he'd introduced himself using sign, Piper translating behind him, and how the man had followed him around his daughter's birthday party as if Emmett, rather than the five year old children, required constant supervision, just because he was deaf.
For heaven's sake, he was twenty five years old and a professional photographer! Had Mr. Hearing Monkey graduated with honors from the University of Kansas' humanities department? He thought not!
“We don't have to do kid parties anymore,” Piper added, attempting to soothe his frazzled nerves with a gentle smile. “They are too stressful and you're too talented.”
In a lot of ways, she was like Daphne, and suddenly Emmett wished his best friend wasn't off with her husband, cheering on his stupid football games. He could always call her, but it wouldn't be quite the same, and he knew there was a reason he really hated jocks.
“Emmett?” Piper prompted warily, signing his assigned name with a soft frown.
He plastered a fake smile onto his lips and cheerily waved at her. Goodbye, Piper.
She considered him sternly with her hands on her hips, but he was already sliding off his seat and loping to his door, not sparing a single glance at her, so she huffed and stalked off toward her own apartment, another three minutes' walk away.
Impatient to leave the day behind him, Emmett rang the doorbell a few times and waited for an answer. When he realized no one was home, he mentally cursed the universe, before fishing his keys out of his pocket, only to find that the depths of his house had been blanketed in darkness.
He didn't like the dark very much. Being deaf, the thought of losing yet another sense terrified him, and he felt himself growing angrier, this time at his roommate, for knowing that and still dimming the lights.
However, if he squinted, he could see a faint glow oozing out from under their closed bedroom door, and figured that was a sign for him to sulk in there until someone actually came home for him to argue with.
He kicked off his boots and began to do just that, but a new obstacle, the clawed foot of their living room table, made itself known by colliding against his now bare foot, inspiring a displeased hiss from him as he hopped around, trying to assuage the ache in his toe.
The bedroom door immediately swung open, and pain left the forefront of Emmett's mind when he saw the way Toby was haloed by the golden light inside, but before he could cave to his urge of capturing the moment with his camera, the tall blond was at his side, stooping to tenderly cradle his foot.
“Sorry,” Toby mouthed, his blue eyes apologetic.
Emmett swallowed dryly, then pointed a finger at his chest, replaced it with his thumb, and thumped the area two times. I'm fine.
Toby smiled happily and stood up, lacing the fingers of both of his hands with Emmett's, which the younger man allowed. With them in his grasp, he started to slowly walk backwards, returning to their bedroom, with the redhead in tow.
The subtle scent of vanilla assaulted Emmett's nostrils as they crossed the threshold, Toby leading him to a small table that had been set up in front of their bed, decorated with a silk cloth, candles and covered platters of food, with a single rose in a vase at the center, and he suddenly felt paranoid.
What was Toby doing? Was he trying to be romantic? Had Emmett forgotten a special occasion? Was he being buttered up before receiving bad news?
With his hands trapped, he couldn't exactly ask any of the questions that were beating around his skull, so he was left hoping his critical gaze would be enough to relate them.
He let himself be coaxed into one of the two chairs available, then furrowed his eyebrows when Toby bent in front of him again, watching as the older man's blue eyes flicked to a small box, velveteen and blue in appearance, before those vivid orbs rose to meet his.
Toby looked nervous. As a musician who performed in front of hundreds of thousands of people, that in itself was strange, but his smile, at least, was genuinely bright.
His hands began to move, first cupping over each other, then rolling as if there was something to be molded, perhaps a ball of clay, between his palms.
Before he had even pointed to himself, which would finish his question, Emmett clasped his fingers into a fist and rapped sharply on air. Yes, Toby, yes!
He pulled the blond back into a standing position with a strength neither of them knew he had, but any surprise was lost when they began to kiss.
Marry me? Toby had signed, and what better way was there to make up for a bad day?
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Two Hands, One Still, One Sliced Through the Air
End
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A/N: Hope you all liked this. =) If anyone else wants to write fic for this fandom, but doesn't have a good English to ASL translator, I just found an awesome one. Please leave critique, if you have any.
Title: Like Rolling a Ball of Clay
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Switched at Birth. If I did, Emmett and Toby would someday get together. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: K+ for biases about the hearing and deaf community. I am not part of the latter, but I hope I've portrayed characters realistically.
Other Notes: ~1K. Toby/Emmett, with some lightly implied Daphne/Liam. They're in their mid-twenties.
Summary: Emmett has a bad day, but a surprise proposal from his boyfriend makes everything better.
-
Like Rolling a Ball of Clay
-
Emmett came home with a scowl on his face. Well, to be fair, Emmett almost always came home scowling, but this time the expression was etched much deeper than usual, and for good reason.
He pulled up in front of his house, cutting past some entitled douche with a Beamer in the process, and his assistant, a speaking deaf woman named Piper, squeezed his shoulder in warning.
He craned his neck to regard her properly, watching as she got off the back of his motorcycle with wobbly legs, then shook both of his open palms in exasperation. What?
“Don't be mad,” she pleaded with him, lifting her own hand in a frenzied gesture till it masked the lower half of her face, nails reached out to scratch. “You know that not everyone can be so accepting.”
Emmett pursed his lips, recalling how his newest client's face had darkened to a garish red as soon as he'd introduced himself using sign, Piper translating behind him, and how the man had followed him around his daughter's birthday party as if Emmett, rather than the five year old children, required constant supervision, just because he was deaf.
For heaven's sake, he was twenty five years old and a professional photographer! Had Mr. Hearing Monkey graduated with honors from the University of Kansas' humanities department? He thought not!
“We don't have to do kid parties anymore,” Piper added, attempting to soothe his frazzled nerves with a gentle smile. “They are too stressful and you're too talented.”
In a lot of ways, she was like Daphne, and suddenly Emmett wished his best friend wasn't off with her husband, cheering on his stupid football games. He could always call her, but it wouldn't be quite the same, and he knew there was a reason he really hated jocks.
“Emmett?” Piper prompted warily, signing his assigned name with a soft frown.
He plastered a fake smile onto his lips and cheerily waved at her. Goodbye, Piper.
She considered him sternly with her hands on her hips, but he was already sliding off his seat and loping to his door, not sparing a single glance at her, so she huffed and stalked off toward her own apartment, another three minutes' walk away.
Impatient to leave the day behind him, Emmett rang the doorbell a few times and waited for an answer. When he realized no one was home, he mentally cursed the universe, before fishing his keys out of his pocket, only to find that the depths of his house had been blanketed in darkness.
He didn't like the dark very much. Being deaf, the thought of losing yet another sense terrified him, and he felt himself growing angrier, this time at his roommate, for knowing that and still dimming the lights.
However, if he squinted, he could see a faint glow oozing out from under their closed bedroom door, and figured that was a sign for him to sulk in there until someone actually came home for him to argue with.
He kicked off his boots and began to do just that, but a new obstacle, the clawed foot of their living room table, made itself known by colliding against his now bare foot, inspiring a displeased hiss from him as he hopped around, trying to assuage the ache in his toe.
The bedroom door immediately swung open, and pain left the forefront of Emmett's mind when he saw the way Toby was haloed by the golden light inside, but before he could cave to his urge of capturing the moment with his camera, the tall blond was at his side, stooping to tenderly cradle his foot.
“Sorry,” Toby mouthed, his blue eyes apologetic.
Emmett swallowed dryly, then pointed a finger at his chest, replaced it with his thumb, and thumped the area two times. I'm fine.
Toby smiled happily and stood up, lacing the fingers of both of his hands with Emmett's, which the younger man allowed. With them in his grasp, he started to slowly walk backwards, returning to their bedroom, with the redhead in tow.
The subtle scent of vanilla assaulted Emmett's nostrils as they crossed the threshold, Toby leading him to a small table that had been set up in front of their bed, decorated with a silk cloth, candles and covered platters of food, with a single rose in a vase at the center, and he suddenly felt paranoid.
What was Toby doing? Was he trying to be romantic? Had Emmett forgotten a special occasion? Was he being buttered up before receiving bad news?
With his hands trapped, he couldn't exactly ask any of the questions that were beating around his skull, so he was left hoping his critical gaze would be enough to relate them.
He let himself be coaxed into one of the two chairs available, then furrowed his eyebrows when Toby bent in front of him again, watching as the older man's blue eyes flicked to a small box, velveteen and blue in appearance, before those vivid orbs rose to meet his.
Toby looked nervous. As a musician who performed in front of hundreds of thousands of people, that in itself was strange, but his smile, at least, was genuinely bright.
His hands began to move, first cupping over each other, then rolling as if there was something to be molded, perhaps a ball of clay, between his palms.
Before he had even pointed to himself, which would finish his question, Emmett clasped his fingers into a fist and rapped sharply on air. Yes, Toby, yes!
He pulled the blond back into a standing position with a strength neither of them knew he had, but any surprise was lost when they began to kiss.
Marry me? Toby had signed, and what better way was there to make up for a bad day?
-
Two Hands, One Still, One Sliced Through the Air
End
-
A/N: Hope you all liked this. =) If anyone else wants to write fic for this fandom, but doesn't have a good English to ASL translator, I just found an awesome one. Please leave critique, if you have any.