Ficlet: Velvet on Your Handcuffs
Title: Velvet on Your Handcuffs
Author: nereemac
Fandom/Characters: Rookie Blue-Luke, Gail
Rating: PG for innuendo (upped to R if you choose to hunt down the source of the title and the cut text)
Word Count: 405
Spoilers: Everything up to and including 4.03
Summary: My belated offering for 4.03's Fantasy Luke Sighting over at hey_homicide.
Author's Note: Huge thanks to waltzmatildah for the beta, and the confidence boost. And also for the agreement to boost my confidence in exchange for fic and knitted garments.
*
Luke finds her, not that he was looking for her, in the property room. Where he has no business being.
He leans against the door frame, waits for her to look up. “What did you do to piss off Frank enough that he stuck you in here all by yourself?”
“I'm not by myself. I have Ernie.” She waves a hand towards... and, yes, that's an urn.
“Ernie?”
“Yup. He happens to be a sparkling conversationalist. He has a great sense of humour-dry. Earthy, even. We've been comparing ideal vacation spots. I was partial to Hawaiʻi , but Ernie tells me it's overrated and full of selfish assholes who leave their families on the shelf and won't pay for shipping.”
He opens his mouth to ask what the hell she's talking about, but thinks better of it at the last minute, nods to her drink instead. “You on another cleanse?”
She smiles, sweetly, which is always a warning of impending trouble, and holds out the cup. “Yeah. I have this tea. Want to try it?”
He laughs. “I fell for that once before, remember? I puked on my shoes.”
She nods, grinning widely. “Good times. Seriously, though, you should try some. You need to take care of yourself. You're not getting any younger.”
“Says the woman who drinks tequila like it's water, and takes no recreational exercise.”
Their eyes meet, and he feels himself start to blush when she smirks. Smooth, detective.
She lets him off the hook, though. “Please. I got exercise at the weekend. There was paintball, and competitive drinking, and weightlifting.”
“Weightlifting?”
“Yup. I lifted a giraffe over my head. That's what good shape I'm in. Andy and Dov said it was a camel, but they're clearly delusional.”
He laughs, “Clearly.”
“So, just to be sure, you're really not going to drink some of my tea?”
“I'm really not.”
“Ugh. Nick wouldn't drink it either. What is wrong with you people?”
“Well, I always thought Nick had impeccable taste.”
She tilts her head to one side, gives 'Ernie' a considering look, “Twenty bucks says I can talk him into drinking it.”
“You're on. But if you can't, you have to come to spin class with me, so that I get to see you puke on your shoes.” With that, he turns to leave, because he already knows she's going to win the bet, and the last word is all he has.
*
Author: nereemac
Fandom/Characters: Rookie Blue-Luke, Gail
Rating: PG for innuendo (upped to R if you choose to hunt down the source of the title and the cut text)
Word Count: 405
Spoilers: Everything up to and including 4.03
Summary: My belated offering for 4.03's Fantasy Luke Sighting over at hey_homicide.
Author's Note: Huge thanks to waltzmatildah for the beta, and the confidence boost. And also for the agreement to boost my confidence in exchange for fic and knitted garments.
*
Luke finds her, not that he was looking for her, in the property room. Where he has no business being.
He leans against the door frame, waits for her to look up. “What did you do to piss off Frank enough that he stuck you in here all by yourself?”
“I'm not by myself. I have Ernie.” She waves a hand towards... and, yes, that's an urn.
“Ernie?”
“Yup. He happens to be a sparkling conversationalist. He has a great sense of humour-dry. Earthy, even. We've been comparing ideal vacation spots. I was partial to Hawaiʻi , but Ernie tells me it's overrated and full of selfish assholes who leave their families on the shelf and won't pay for shipping.”
He opens his mouth to ask what the hell she's talking about, but thinks better of it at the last minute, nods to her drink instead. “You on another cleanse?”
She smiles, sweetly, which is always a warning of impending trouble, and holds out the cup. “Yeah. I have this tea. Want to try it?”
He laughs. “I fell for that once before, remember? I puked on my shoes.”
She nods, grinning widely. “Good times. Seriously, though, you should try some. You need to take care of yourself. You're not getting any younger.”
“Says the woman who drinks tequila like it's water, and takes no recreational exercise.”
Their eyes meet, and he feels himself start to blush when she smirks. Smooth, detective.
She lets him off the hook, though. “Please. I got exercise at the weekend. There was paintball, and competitive drinking, and weightlifting.”
“Weightlifting?”
“Yup. I lifted a giraffe over my head. That's what good shape I'm in. Andy and Dov said it was a camel, but they're clearly delusional.”
He laughs, “Clearly.”
“So, just to be sure, you're really not going to drink some of my tea?”
“I'm really not.”
“Ugh. Nick wouldn't drink it either. What is wrong with you people?”
“Well, I always thought Nick had impeccable taste.”
She tilts her head to one side, gives 'Ernie' a considering look, “Twenty bucks says I can talk him into drinking it.”
“You're on. But if you can't, you have to come to spin class with me, so that I get to see you puke on your shoes.” With that, he turns to leave, because he already knows she's going to win the bet, and the last word is all he has.
*