fic: Ton of Bricks
Title: Ton of Bricks
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (bookverse)
Characters: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan
Rating: R
Word count: 495
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Written for: 15_minute_fic, prompt #175. In a nutshell, look at the prompt word and write a fic in 15 minutes. I think this thing needs more of an ending, but I ran out of time.
I had good reasons not to cheat on Timmy - fear of the plague being one of them - but I didn’t understand the most important reason until I caught him looking at himself in the bedroom mirror.
He thought I was still asleep, I guess. I’d been out late the night before, first questioning a suspect and then herding that same suspect down a dark alley and doing what I do best. By the time I crawled into bed beside Timmy it was close to three o’clock. He was lying on his side, facing away from me, but when I spooned up behind him, he turned over and moved into my arms. For a second I was afraid he’d want what I’d just given to someone else, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be up for another round for at least an hour or two.
Timmy tucked his head under my chin, exhaled a long breath and went back to sleep. Guilty relief washed over me as I closed my eyes and let myself drift off to the sound of Timmy’s breathing.
I opened my eyes the next morning to see Timmy standing naked in front of the full-length mirror. I was about to compliment the beautiful curve of his ass when he turned sideways and sucked in his nonexistent gut. I saw him frown and lean close to the mirror as he touched the tiny crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.
I stirred in the bed, drawing his attention. He didn’t jump or blush or try to hide himself from me; we’d been together too long for that.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he said.
“Neither am I.”
“But they’re getting younger, aren’t they?” His blue eyes bored into mine. “Five, ten years, at least.”
I knew what he meant. The guy I’d gone down on in the alley couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
Timmy walked back to bed and got under the covers, but he didn’t touch me. I didn’t dare touch him, either. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, then turned to me.
“I know they don’t mean anything to you,” he said. “I mean something to you. Maybe someday I’ll mean everything.”
The fear in his voice were beyond anything I’d heard before that moment. The fear of being left for someone younger, firmer and harder was entirely my fault.
“You mean everything now,” I said.
“Really?”
“It won’t happen again. I promise you."
He raised himself up on his elbow. “Really?”
I kissed him. “Really.”
He settled against my side and closed his eyes.
“Good.”
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (bookverse)
Characters: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan
Rating: R
Word count: 495
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Written for: 15_minute_fic, prompt #175. In a nutshell, look at the prompt word and write a fic in 15 minutes. I think this thing needs more of an ending, but I ran out of time.
I had good reasons not to cheat on Timmy - fear of the plague being one of them - but I didn’t understand the most important reason until I caught him looking at himself in the bedroom mirror.
He thought I was still asleep, I guess. I’d been out late the night before, first questioning a suspect and then herding that same suspect down a dark alley and doing what I do best. By the time I crawled into bed beside Timmy it was close to three o’clock. He was lying on his side, facing away from me, but when I spooned up behind him, he turned over and moved into my arms. For a second I was afraid he’d want what I’d just given to someone else, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be up for another round for at least an hour or two.
Timmy tucked his head under my chin, exhaled a long breath and went back to sleep. Guilty relief washed over me as I closed my eyes and let myself drift off to the sound of Timmy’s breathing.
I opened my eyes the next morning to see Timmy standing naked in front of the full-length mirror. I was about to compliment the beautiful curve of his ass when he turned sideways and sucked in his nonexistent gut. I saw him frown and lean close to the mirror as he touched the tiny crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.
I stirred in the bed, drawing his attention. He didn’t jump or blush or try to hide himself from me; we’d been together too long for that.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he said.
“Neither am I.”
“But they’re getting younger, aren’t they?” His blue eyes bored into mine. “Five, ten years, at least.”
I knew what he meant. The guy I’d gone down on in the alley couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
Timmy walked back to bed and got under the covers, but he didn’t touch me. I didn’t dare touch him, either. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, then turned to me.
“I know they don’t mean anything to you,” he said. “I mean something to you. Maybe someday I’ll mean everything.”
The fear in his voice were beyond anything I’d heard before that moment. The fear of being left for someone younger, firmer and harder was entirely my fault.
“You mean everything now,” I said.
“Really?”
“It won’t happen again. I promise you."
He raised himself up on his elbow. “Really?”
I kissed him. “Really.”
He settled against my side and closed his eyes.
“Good.”