#060 - Real Person: Ricky Martin
Title: Passing Storms
Fandom: real person: ricky martin
Pairing: Ricky/ Tony E.
Prompt: 060 - rain
Word Count: 291
Rating: G
Author's Notes:
Soothing music filled the room and a glass of wine occupied one hand as a thunderstorm rumbled quietly in the distance. Ricky paced slowly, fingers lightly brushing over the rustic antiques as he tried not to let the day’s events bother him. He was failing miserably. He’d lost count of the number of times that he had picked up the phone and half dialled the number before placing it back in its cradle. He hated arguing, hated it even more when it was someone so very important to him.
He finally sank into a large, overstuffed brown leather chair and picked up a nearby book. He read the words, but didn’t see them, the story they told lost on him.
The storm finally reached him and rain began to fall heavily from the dark clouds that had swept in. He put the book down, closed his eyes and concentrated on listening, trying not to remember the hurtful words that were said earlier that day. Gradually, the storm moved closer, drowning out the voices in his head.
Between rumbles, there was a knock at the door and Ricky rose slowly to answer it. He wasn’t expecting anyone; there were a limited number of people that knew how to find him. He stepped back in surprise.
Tony stood in front of him, wet from the storm, short hair flattened against his head, droplets of water glistening on his eye lashes, wet tee shirt clinging to his body. He blinked, but stood silently.
Ricky pulled Tony inside, then shut the door. One hand twisted in Tony’s wet shirt, the other combed through his hair as Ricky brought him close and kissed him, releasing all the tension he felt inside.
“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered quietly.
Fandom: real person: ricky martin
Pairing: Ricky/ Tony E.
Prompt: 060 - rain
Word Count: 291
Rating: G
Author's Notes:
Soothing music filled the room and a glass of wine occupied one hand as a thunderstorm rumbled quietly in the distance. Ricky paced slowly, fingers lightly brushing over the rustic antiques as he tried not to let the day’s events bother him. He was failing miserably. He’d lost count of the number of times that he had picked up the phone and half dialled the number before placing it back in its cradle. He hated arguing, hated it even more when it was someone so very important to him.
He finally sank into a large, overstuffed brown leather chair and picked up a nearby book. He read the words, but didn’t see them, the story they told lost on him.
The storm finally reached him and rain began to fall heavily from the dark clouds that had swept in. He put the book down, closed his eyes and concentrated on listening, trying not to remember the hurtful words that were said earlier that day. Gradually, the storm moved closer, drowning out the voices in his head.
Between rumbles, there was a knock at the door and Ricky rose slowly to answer it. He wasn’t expecting anyone; there were a limited number of people that knew how to find him. He stepped back in surprise.
Tony stood in front of him, wet from the storm, short hair flattened against his head, droplets of water glistening on his eye lashes, wet tee shirt clinging to his body. He blinked, but stood silently.
Ricky pulled Tony inside, then shut the door. One hand twisted in Tony’s wet shirt, the other combed through his hair as Ricky brought him close and kissed him, releasing all the tension he felt inside.
“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered quietly.