UNFIT TO BE A PARTY PLANNER [Lockon/Tieria] [Gundam 00]
Title :: UNFIT TO BE A PARTY PLANNER
Pairing :: Lockon/Tieria
Rating :: PG
Wordcount :: 500
Summary :: If you couldn’t relax and let down a few of those oh-so-carefully constructed walls on your own birthday, he’d reasoned, then when could you? And so Lockon Stratos had prepared a surprise party for Tieria Erde.
Notes :: As if I could ignore Cardigan Day. 8D ♥
The whole thing was supposed to be for his own good.
Really.
If you couldn’t relax and let down a few of those oh-so-carefully constructed walls on your own birthday, he’d reasoned, then when could you?
And so Lockon Stratos had prepared a surprise party for Tieria Erde.
Sort of.
Or rather, he had barged unannounced into Tieria’s quarters (enlisting Haro to help him bypass the lock), hollered out a cheery, “Surprise! Happy birthday, Tieria!” and promptly found a gun aimed threateningly at his head.
He figured it was the thought that counted, made a hasty retreat, and instead began preparations for Plan B.
Except his attempt at a cake did not so much fall as it did explode, and he ended up cramming the resulting mess into the garbage disposal before Tieria could storm in and see. (He could just hear him now: “Lockon Stratos, you are unfit to give me food poisoning!”)
And thusly, he was left with no other option but resorting to Plan C:
Alcohol.
“C’mon,” he cajoled, flashing what he hoped was his most charming grin as he held out the bottle. “It’s a present; it’d be rude to refuse.”
Judging from the glare plastered on Tieria’s features, he did not particularly care - but then, Lockon could be just as stubborn.
“Now, now, that isn’t good for morale, you know. Being rude causes general unhappiness here in the ship, and that in turn hurts productivity and can threaten Veda’s mission plans, and-”
“JUST GIVE ME YOUR DAMN ALCOHOL AND SHUT UP, LOCKON STRATOS.”
Lockon smiled sweetly, pressed the bottle into his hand - and then promptly ducked it as he attempted to kiss Tieria on the cheek and found it swinging towards his head.
This was a decided step up from the gun, and all setbacks aside, he thought that so far he was doing pretty damn good.
Or, well, something.
By the time a completely-plastered Tieria had somehow decided to fall asleep snuggled in his lap (and occasionally muttering things that sounded like, “Y’let Haro steal m’cardigan again, incom’tent bastard”), Lockon no longer actually had any idea of what the hell was going on.
(Neither, apparently, did Allelujah, who had taken one glance at them and then fled horror-stricken from the room, accompanied by the sounds of Setsuna drunkenly ranting about his own alcohol tolerance as a Gundam.)
This was not exactly going as planned.
But as Tieria nuzzled his cheek cutely against his thigh and - holy shit where the hell was his hand going - stopped muttering what were most likely death threats, Lockon came to the conclusion that he really did not care.
Even if Tieria killed him for it in the morning.
And even if he was, in fact, currently kind of drooling all over Lockon’s pants.
He still would not have given this up for the world.
(And hey, there was always the hope that with a hangover, Tieria’s aim would be off enough that he couldn’t inflict any fatal wounds.)
Pairing :: Lockon/Tieria
Rating :: PG
Wordcount :: 500
Summary :: If you couldn’t relax and let down a few of those oh-so-carefully constructed walls on your own birthday, he’d reasoned, then when could you? And so Lockon Stratos had prepared a surprise party for Tieria Erde.
Notes :: As if I could ignore Cardigan Day. 8D ♥
The whole thing was supposed to be for his own good.
Really.
If you couldn’t relax and let down a few of those oh-so-carefully constructed walls on your own birthday, he’d reasoned, then when could you?
And so Lockon Stratos had prepared a surprise party for Tieria Erde.
Sort of.
Or rather, he had barged unannounced into Tieria’s quarters (enlisting Haro to help him bypass the lock), hollered out a cheery, “Surprise! Happy birthday, Tieria!” and promptly found a gun aimed threateningly at his head.
He figured it was the thought that counted, made a hasty retreat, and instead began preparations for Plan B.
Except his attempt at a cake did not so much fall as it did explode, and he ended up cramming the resulting mess into the garbage disposal before Tieria could storm in and see. (He could just hear him now: “Lockon Stratos, you are unfit to give me food poisoning!”)
And thusly, he was left with no other option but resorting to Plan C:
Alcohol.
“C’mon,” he cajoled, flashing what he hoped was his most charming grin as he held out the bottle. “It’s a present; it’d be rude to refuse.”
Judging from the glare plastered on Tieria’s features, he did not particularly care - but then, Lockon could be just as stubborn.
“Now, now, that isn’t good for morale, you know. Being rude causes general unhappiness here in the ship, and that in turn hurts productivity and can threaten Veda’s mission plans, and-”
“JUST GIVE ME YOUR DAMN ALCOHOL AND SHUT UP, LOCKON STRATOS.”
Lockon smiled sweetly, pressed the bottle into his hand - and then promptly ducked it as he attempted to kiss Tieria on the cheek and found it swinging towards his head.
This was a decided step up from the gun, and all setbacks aside, he thought that so far he was doing pretty damn good.
Or, well, something.
By the time a completely-plastered Tieria had somehow decided to fall asleep snuggled in his lap (and occasionally muttering things that sounded like, “Y’let Haro steal m’cardigan again, incom’tent bastard”), Lockon no longer actually had any idea of what the hell was going on.
(Neither, apparently, did Allelujah, who had taken one glance at them and then fled horror-stricken from the room, accompanied by the sounds of Setsuna drunkenly ranting about his own alcohol tolerance as a Gundam.)
This was not exactly going as planned.
But as Tieria nuzzled his cheek cutely against his thigh and - holy shit where the hell was his hand going - stopped muttering what were most likely death threats, Lockon came to the conclusion that he really did not care.
Even if Tieria killed him for it in the morning.
And even if he was, in fact, currently kind of drooling all over Lockon’s pants.
He still would not have given this up for the world.
(And hey, there was always the hope that with a hangover, Tieria’s aim would be off enough that he couldn’t inflict any fatal wounds.)