Fic: Lollipop (Rusty/Danny if you squint)
Title: Lollipop
Author: jmtorres
Summary: Danny gets stopped for speeding. Rusty has a lollipop.
Rating: PG
Recipient: ladyphineas (Request was: A close call, a job that almost goes wrong--Rusty/Danny. I, uh, mentally pictured them as a couple as I was writing, but the slash only shows up if you squint.)
Notes: Thanks to j_crew_guy for brainstorming with me, and thanks to holde_maid, jcalanthe, and simplelyric for last-minute beta.
Danny was cruising at about sixty when the motorcycle cop pulled out of a hedge behind them, siren blaring.
"What do you think, should I try to run?" Danny asked, his foot already on the accelerator. He inched up to sixty-five, glancing at Rusty. They sped past cookie-cutter, beige duplexes, the kind that were just too boring to contemplate robbing.
Rusty sat with one arm slung over the back of the bench seat, the other along the edge of his rolled down window. He drummed on the outside of the car by the mirror with two fingers, da-dum, da-dum, and just looked at Danny.
"So I'll just pull over," said Danny, resigned, sliding his foot back to the brake.
It was all in the jaw, really. If Rusty had been sucking on his lollipop, Danny would have known it was okay. Instead, the lollipop was a big ball in his left cheek because his jaw was clenched tight.
"Where'd you get that thing, anyway?" asked Danny.
"Bank had a bowl of 'em on the counter," said Rusty, taking it out of his mouth for a moment. The lollipop was blue. So was Rusty's tongue.
"Well." Danny waved at the cop, eyes on the rear-view mirror, and slowed to a stop in front of somebody's lawn. "I'm glad you succeeded in stealing something. It'd be nice if it were something you could share."
Rusty pulled two more lollipops out of his shirt pocket, still plastic-wrapped. "Lime or cherry?" he asked, this time around the blue lollipop in his mouth.
Danny shoved Rusty's hand down and turned to smile at the cop. Rusty's other hand snaked the lollipop from his mouth and slid it over the side of the car. His habitual tap went da-dum-clink and then stopped.
"Where's the fire, boys?" said the cop, parking his motorcycle. He was a big guy, tall and broad-shouldered, brown-haired under the helmet he was pulling off, and not really old enough to be calling Danny and Rusty boys on the basis of seniority. That meant he was doing it because he thought that he was tough--and that they weren't.
Danny had a very strong temptation to play opposite the tough act, to say, with his brightest smile and a flirtatious flutter of eyelashes, Was I speeding, officer? He didn't think that would go over well, though. If only he were a woman. Danny didn't understand why more women weren't con men.
"Chicago," Danny said, somber, keeping his smile low-key. "I'm sorry we were speeding, sir, but I just got a call that our grandfather had a stroke. We were hoping we might be able to get a flight out tonight, if we could get to the airport in time."
"That so," drawled the cop. He shone his flashlight at the backseat, where Rusty's bag of tricks was lying, looking like a perfectly ordinary, if hastily stuffed, duffel bag. Danny refrained from looking over his shoulder to check on it again; that would look guilty, and besides, there was nothing to worry about. Rusty had zipped it up before tossing it in. As long as the cop didn't want to look inside, they were fine.
The cop shone his flashlight on Rusty's face. The light caught on Rusty's blond hair. "You two brothers?" asked the cop, doubtfully.
"Step-brothers," said Danny, which was sort of true, although not quite legally. His mom had met Rusty's dad in a bar in Vegas, and the rest was history, except for the fact that Rusty's dad had still been married to Rusty's mom when he'd walked down the aisle with Danny's mom. Danny, age twelve, had been ring-bearer; Rusty, age ten, had been home in Michigan, watching The Thomas Crown Affair from Blockbuster's.
"Grandpa Saul has always treated me like one of his own," Rusty said. Danny hoped that only he could detect the flippancy under Rusty's solemnity.
"Please, officer," said Danny. "I'd never normally drive so recklessly and I know I shouldn't have tonight and I won't again; I'm just so worried about Grandpa Saul." Rusty had at least remembered that bit of Lying 101--a little truth always makes a lie more believable. "On the phone, our grandmother said the doctors think he might..." He trailed off. If he actually said the word "die," that would be laying it on too thick. Anything up to it was perfectly persuasive.
"We just want to be with them in this difficult time," said Rusty. It was a good thing Rusty had such a great poker face, because Danny was certain he could hear the laughter about to escape in his voice.
Maybe the cop would think he was about to cry.
"It's so hard on Grams," said Danny. "None of the family still lives in Chicago, and she's not in the best of health herself. She needs a walker just to get around the house. I don't know what she'll do if Grandpa Saul doesn't recover. We may have to bring her home with us."
The cop broke. "All right," he said. "I'll let you off with a warning, just this once. But don't you break any more traffic laws. You won't do any good to your grandmother if you get yourselves killed in an accident."
"You're absolutely right," said Danny. "Thank you. I'll be careful."
"You better," said the cop, strapping his helmet back on. He remounted his motorcycle, made a U-turn and headed back to his speed trap, while Danny drove off sedately at thirty miles per hour, a mere five over the speed limit.
When they'd rounded a corner (with turn signal) and passed a house, Rusty leaned over and slapped him on the back of the head.
"Ow," said Danny. "What was that for?"
"I saw you making those big, pretty eyes at that cop," said Rusty, sticking his lollipop back in his mouth. Danny thought about the last time the car had been washed and shuddered slightly. "'Oh, look at me, I'm such a good boy, Mr. Policeman. I'm such a Boy Scout. I love doing the right thing. Let me lick your boots, because you are the very embodiment of goodness and justice, officer sir.'" He pulled his lollipop out to give it a good, long lick of example. "Mmm, boots."
"Got us out of it, didn't I?" said Danny. "I should be hitting you on the head. Whose idea was it to rob a bank? Just a little local branch, for practice?"
"And how is it my fault you were speeding?" said Rusty. "You had two jobs--cut the power to the block and drive the getaway car. The getaway car is not supposed to get pulled over. Also, the power came back on."
"I'm only good face to face," Danny sighed. "If there'd been a teller at the window, I could have talked her out of every dime in the place."
Rusty snorted. "You talk a cop out of a ticket and suddenly you're the smoothest man in the world, huh?"
"I mean it," said Danny. "It's what I'm good at. I'm hopeless at safes and I'll never pick up the electrical stuff, but people, Rusty. I can do people. That cop believed every word I said. I can make people trust me."
"You mean you can lie like a rug," said Rusty, looking down his arm at Danny. It was in the same voice as Grandpa Saul has always treated me like one of his own, just a little bit dry.
"Don't belittle my talent," said Danny. "It's a very useful skill to have."
"Which is it?" Rusty asked.
"Which is what?" Danny asked back.
Rusty said, quiet laughter lurking beneath his reasonable tone, "Is it a talent, or is it a skill?"
Danny threw him an annoyed look.
"A talent," said Rusty, in lecture mode, holding his lollipop like a microphone, "is a natural aptitude. A skill is something one learns and develops."
Smartass. "I was a born liar," Danny declared, "but I have honed the ability to perfection."
Rusty sat there and smirked. Danny was absolutely certain it was a comment on his supposed perfection.
"Shut up and gimme my share," Danny grumbled. After a moment's silence, he added, hand held out, eyes on the road, "Lime."
Rusty deposited the green lollipop in his hand, and Danny tore the plastic off with his teeth and popped it in his mouth.
At least they had something to show for their evening out.
Author: jmtorres
Summary: Danny gets stopped for speeding. Rusty has a lollipop.
Rating: PG
Recipient: ladyphineas (Request was: A close call, a job that almost goes wrong--Rusty/Danny. I, uh, mentally pictured them as a couple as I was writing, but the slash only shows up if you squint.)
Notes: Thanks to j_crew_guy for brainstorming with me, and thanks to holde_maid, jcalanthe, and simplelyric for last-minute beta.
Danny was cruising at about sixty when the motorcycle cop pulled out of a hedge behind them, siren blaring.
"What do you think, should I try to run?" Danny asked, his foot already on the accelerator. He inched up to sixty-five, glancing at Rusty. They sped past cookie-cutter, beige duplexes, the kind that were just too boring to contemplate robbing.
Rusty sat with one arm slung over the back of the bench seat, the other along the edge of his rolled down window. He drummed on the outside of the car by the mirror with two fingers, da-dum, da-dum, and just looked at Danny.
"So I'll just pull over," said Danny, resigned, sliding his foot back to the brake.
It was all in the jaw, really. If Rusty had been sucking on his lollipop, Danny would have known it was okay. Instead, the lollipop was a big ball in his left cheek because his jaw was clenched tight.
"Where'd you get that thing, anyway?" asked Danny.
"Bank had a bowl of 'em on the counter," said Rusty, taking it out of his mouth for a moment. The lollipop was blue. So was Rusty's tongue.
"Well." Danny waved at the cop, eyes on the rear-view mirror, and slowed to a stop in front of somebody's lawn. "I'm glad you succeeded in stealing something. It'd be nice if it were something you could share."
Rusty pulled two more lollipops out of his shirt pocket, still plastic-wrapped. "Lime or cherry?" he asked, this time around the blue lollipop in his mouth.
Danny shoved Rusty's hand down and turned to smile at the cop. Rusty's other hand snaked the lollipop from his mouth and slid it over the side of the car. His habitual tap went da-dum-clink and then stopped.
"Where's the fire, boys?" said the cop, parking his motorcycle. He was a big guy, tall and broad-shouldered, brown-haired under the helmet he was pulling off, and not really old enough to be calling Danny and Rusty boys on the basis of seniority. That meant he was doing it because he thought that he was tough--and that they weren't.
Danny had a very strong temptation to play opposite the tough act, to say, with his brightest smile and a flirtatious flutter of eyelashes, Was I speeding, officer? He didn't think that would go over well, though. If only he were a woman. Danny didn't understand why more women weren't con men.
"Chicago," Danny said, somber, keeping his smile low-key. "I'm sorry we were speeding, sir, but I just got a call that our grandfather had a stroke. We were hoping we might be able to get a flight out tonight, if we could get to the airport in time."
"That so," drawled the cop. He shone his flashlight at the backseat, where Rusty's bag of tricks was lying, looking like a perfectly ordinary, if hastily stuffed, duffel bag. Danny refrained from looking over his shoulder to check on it again; that would look guilty, and besides, there was nothing to worry about. Rusty had zipped it up before tossing it in. As long as the cop didn't want to look inside, they were fine.
The cop shone his flashlight on Rusty's face. The light caught on Rusty's blond hair. "You two brothers?" asked the cop, doubtfully.
"Step-brothers," said Danny, which was sort of true, although not quite legally. His mom had met Rusty's dad in a bar in Vegas, and the rest was history, except for the fact that Rusty's dad had still been married to Rusty's mom when he'd walked down the aisle with Danny's mom. Danny, age twelve, had been ring-bearer; Rusty, age ten, had been home in Michigan, watching The Thomas Crown Affair from Blockbuster's.
"Grandpa Saul has always treated me like one of his own," Rusty said. Danny hoped that only he could detect the flippancy under Rusty's solemnity.
"Please, officer," said Danny. "I'd never normally drive so recklessly and I know I shouldn't have tonight and I won't again; I'm just so worried about Grandpa Saul." Rusty had at least remembered that bit of Lying 101--a little truth always makes a lie more believable. "On the phone, our grandmother said the doctors think he might..." He trailed off. If he actually said the word "die," that would be laying it on too thick. Anything up to it was perfectly persuasive.
"We just want to be with them in this difficult time," said Rusty. It was a good thing Rusty had such a great poker face, because Danny was certain he could hear the laughter about to escape in his voice.
Maybe the cop would think he was about to cry.
"It's so hard on Grams," said Danny. "None of the family still lives in Chicago, and she's not in the best of health herself. She needs a walker just to get around the house. I don't know what she'll do if Grandpa Saul doesn't recover. We may have to bring her home with us."
The cop broke. "All right," he said. "I'll let you off with a warning, just this once. But don't you break any more traffic laws. You won't do any good to your grandmother if you get yourselves killed in an accident."
"You're absolutely right," said Danny. "Thank you. I'll be careful."
"You better," said the cop, strapping his helmet back on. He remounted his motorcycle, made a U-turn and headed back to his speed trap, while Danny drove off sedately at thirty miles per hour, a mere five over the speed limit.
When they'd rounded a corner (with turn signal) and passed a house, Rusty leaned over and slapped him on the back of the head.
"Ow," said Danny. "What was that for?"
"I saw you making those big, pretty eyes at that cop," said Rusty, sticking his lollipop back in his mouth. Danny thought about the last time the car had been washed and shuddered slightly. "'Oh, look at me, I'm such a good boy, Mr. Policeman. I'm such a Boy Scout. I love doing the right thing. Let me lick your boots, because you are the very embodiment of goodness and justice, officer sir.'" He pulled his lollipop out to give it a good, long lick of example. "Mmm, boots."
"Got us out of it, didn't I?" said Danny. "I should be hitting you on the head. Whose idea was it to rob a bank? Just a little local branch, for practice?"
"And how is it my fault you were speeding?" said Rusty. "You had two jobs--cut the power to the block and drive the getaway car. The getaway car is not supposed to get pulled over. Also, the power came back on."
"I'm only good face to face," Danny sighed. "If there'd been a teller at the window, I could have talked her out of every dime in the place."
Rusty snorted. "You talk a cop out of a ticket and suddenly you're the smoothest man in the world, huh?"
"I mean it," said Danny. "It's what I'm good at. I'm hopeless at safes and I'll never pick up the electrical stuff, but people, Rusty. I can do people. That cop believed every word I said. I can make people trust me."
"You mean you can lie like a rug," said Rusty, looking down his arm at Danny. It was in the same voice as Grandpa Saul has always treated me like one of his own, just a little bit dry.
"Don't belittle my talent," said Danny. "It's a very useful skill to have."
"Which is it?" Rusty asked.
"Which is what?" Danny asked back.
Rusty said, quiet laughter lurking beneath his reasonable tone, "Is it a talent, or is it a skill?"
Danny threw him an annoyed look.
"A talent," said Rusty, in lecture mode, holding his lollipop like a microphone, "is a natural aptitude. A skill is something one learns and develops."
Smartass. "I was a born liar," Danny declared, "but I have honed the ability to perfection."
Rusty sat there and smirked. Danny was absolutely certain it was a comment on his supposed perfection.
"Shut up and gimme my share," Danny grumbled. After a moment's silence, he added, hand held out, eyes on the road, "Lime."
Rusty deposited the green lollipop in his hand, and Danny tore the plastic off with his teeth and popped it in his mouth.
At least they had something to show for their evening out.