fic: your rails have always outrun mine
your rails have always outrun mine
Original fiction; m/m; pg; 413 words
There's something about it that just turns Cody on.
For phinnia. Also for my kissbingo card to the prompt face: lips.
~*~
He hates that Jason insists on biking home from work every day, rain or shine-he's a workaholic who won't leave the firm until at least six-thirty in the evening, and the traffic on the I-5's normally stop-and-go-but Cody does love the cognitive dissonance of his all-American lawyer boyfriend in a crisp suit with that beat-up leather jacket over it. The smoke from Jason's occasional cigarettes has worked itself into the material, along with the smell of motor oil and sea breeze and his cologne. There's something about it that just turns Cody on. (It's sort of like Jason's uniform kink, but they don't really indulge that one; there's something Cody doesn't like about role-playing in his utilities with the boyfriend that got him discharged in the first place. He might be a little bitter. So fucking what?)
Tonight, Jason comes in, plunks his keys down in the bowl on the table, grabs a PBR from the fridge and flops down onto the couch, letting out a resigned sigh.
"Long day?" Cody asks lightly, giving Jason a quick peck on the lips. He knows Jason's in the middle of a particularly challenging toxic torts case, and there are kids involved, which is always the worst.
"Yeah," Jason says, resting his head on Cody's shoulder. His jacket is warm and soft against Cody's bare arm. "It feels like Hinkley's happening all fucking over again."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Though Cody may not understand all the details of what's going on (he didn't go to college; he's hardly as smart as Jason), he's got a perfectly good pair of ears. Sometimes Jason is too hard on himself and doesn't talk for days, which is what Cody's trying to prevent.
"Maybe later." He yawns. "Pretty tired."
"Want me to make dinner?" Cody offers. When Jason nods wordlessly, Cody heads to the kitchen, trying to brainstorm what he could make with the little that's in the fridge. There aren't a lot of meals he can make without compulsively following the recipe, but he throws together some white bean and tuna panzanella without much trouble, and quick-chills a bottle of wine.
Jason's asleep on the couch when Cody gets back, but it's okay. He eats and covers the other plate, then grabs a blanket and curls up next to Jason. The last thing he smells before drifting off is the leather jacket, warm and familiar.
Original fiction; m/m; pg; 413 words
There's something about it that just turns Cody on.
For phinnia. Also for my kissbingo card to the prompt face: lips.
~*~
He hates that Jason insists on biking home from work every day, rain or shine-he's a workaholic who won't leave the firm until at least six-thirty in the evening, and the traffic on the I-5's normally stop-and-go-but Cody does love the cognitive dissonance of his all-American lawyer boyfriend in a crisp suit with that beat-up leather jacket over it. The smoke from Jason's occasional cigarettes has worked itself into the material, along with the smell of motor oil and sea breeze and his cologne. There's something about it that just turns Cody on. (It's sort of like Jason's uniform kink, but they don't really indulge that one; there's something Cody doesn't like about role-playing in his utilities with the boyfriend that got him discharged in the first place. He might be a little bitter. So fucking what?)
Tonight, Jason comes in, plunks his keys down in the bowl on the table, grabs a PBR from the fridge and flops down onto the couch, letting out a resigned sigh.
"Long day?" Cody asks lightly, giving Jason a quick peck on the lips. He knows Jason's in the middle of a particularly challenging toxic torts case, and there are kids involved, which is always the worst.
"Yeah," Jason says, resting his head on Cody's shoulder. His jacket is warm and soft against Cody's bare arm. "It feels like Hinkley's happening all fucking over again."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Though Cody may not understand all the details of what's going on (he didn't go to college; he's hardly as smart as Jason), he's got a perfectly good pair of ears. Sometimes Jason is too hard on himself and doesn't talk for days, which is what Cody's trying to prevent.
"Maybe later." He yawns. "Pretty tired."
"Want me to make dinner?" Cody offers. When Jason nods wordlessly, Cody heads to the kitchen, trying to brainstorm what he could make with the little that's in the fridge. There aren't a lot of meals he can make without compulsively following the recipe, but he throws together some white bean and tuna panzanella without much trouble, and quick-chills a bottle of wine.
Jason's asleep on the couch when Cody gets back, but it's okay. He eats and covers the other plate, then grabs a blanket and curls up next to Jason. The last thing he smells before drifting off is the leather jacket, warm and familiar.