[Fic] Hand in hand is the only way to land, pt. 1
Title: Hand in hand is the only way to land
Author/Artist: sirona_gs and red_rahl
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: Touch
Word count: ~1,300 this part
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: None
Summary: Arthur meets a far-too-appealing stranger when he brings a foundling kitten to Arthur's pet store.
Notes: This story is a WIP collaboration, and will post once a week so that both red_rahl and me can polish our bits (so to speak). Title from The Cure's Lovecats.
[art] by red_rahl
[text] by sirona_gs
Christopher is not a happy turtle. Arthur often marvels how something so small can also be so incredibly fussy, and so much trouble. No matter how much he tries, Christopher remains stubbornly curled up in his shell, a tiny ball of mistrustful reptile that is causing Arthur no end of grief. There's nothing for it; he apologises mentally as he pokes his little finger in the back of the shell. Christopher's head shoots out and he looks at Arthur reproachfully. Arthur winces when he administers the vaccine -- it's for Christopher's own good, for god's sake, so why is Arthur feeling so damn guilty?
He gives Christopher a double helping of lettuce nevertheless, quietly grumbling to himself as he returns the turtle carefully to his small tank. Christopher looks lively enough; he heads for the food immediately, his long wrinkled neck enthusiastically outstretched. Arthur allows himself to run an affectionate finger over the back of Christopher's shell; the turtle pays him no mind, content with chewing the fresh leaves.
The doorbell jangles, and Arthur turns from the tank, a ready smile brightening his face. The new customer is -- well. Let's put it this way -- if Arthur got home to find that waiting for him in bed, he'd think it was Christmas and he had been a very good boy indeed. The man is tall, shoulders broad and chunky, tattoos peeking from underneath the tight sleeves of his T-shirt.
He's carrying a kitten. Arthur has to force himself not to coo at him.
"Oh god, I hope you can help me," the man says, obviously distressed, holding the kitten out with both hands. It's just a ball of grey fur, hardly even filling the huge palms. "Found him behind my flat, he'd fallen in the dumpster. Can you see if he's okay?"
Arthur hums, beckoning the man to bring the scrap of fur closer to the counter.
"How do you know it's a he?" Arthur asks curiously, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.
The man looks sheepish. "I don't, really. That was bad of me, wasn't it?"
He looks so concerned that Arthur can't help but smile at him reassuringly.
"Well, let's take a look at you, then," he murmurs at the kitten. It looks up at him with huge eyes, mewling pitifully.
Arthur feels along his body, checks the ribs, the legs, each tiny paw. The kitten looks healthy enough, even if its fur is a little matted.
"Looks like it's just old enough to go around without its mom," Arthur says, checking its teeth. The kitten squirms.
The man hums, leaning close enough that Arthur can feel the warmth of his body, the faint hint of aftershave, something fresh and woodsy that makes Arthur want to bury his nose in the man's neck.
Arthur's lost his focus -- the kitten attempts to claw at his hand, but Arthur gets it pinned with two long fingers and checks between its--his legs quickly.
"You're in luck, it really is a 'he'," Arthur tells the looming guy. Somehow he doesn't really mind the proximity.
The man grins. "That's lucky. I'd hate to have called him Derek for nothing."
Arthur blinks. "Derek?"
The guy looks terribly embarrassed all of a sudden, even going as far as to shuffle his feet. "Um, he's grey, right? So I thought, Grey's Anatomy, you know? And he's a boy, so... Derek...?" he flushes.
Arthur is utterly, irrevocably charmed.
"Makes sense," he says, and the guy smiles at him shyly. "Eames," he says, offering Arthur his hand.
Arthur peels one glove off and takes it. "Arthur Moss," he supplies. "Your discovery is perfectly healthy, Mr Eames. What do you intend to do with him? I can take him off your hands, if you want, I'm sure I can find a good home for him very soon, with those lovely green eyes of his."
Eames looks taken aback. "Oh, no, I'm taking him home," he insists, picking Derek up and cuddling him to his chest. "I found him," he adds, and to Arthur it sounds suspiciously like 'I found him first!'. He grins.
"That's great news, Mr Eames, but I have to ask -- are you prepared to take on a cat? It's not as much responsibility as a dog, but it's still a living thing, and needs a lot of care."
Eames smiles at him. Arthur feels like he's passed some kind of test. "My mum breeds cats," Eames confides. "I know a lot about them, including some things I'd really rather I didn't."
Arthur smiles down at Derek, back on the counter as Arthur prepares the usual vaccination for foundlings. He spreads the fur at the neck, squeezes the skin to form a fold, and deftly injects the liquid. Derek backs away, hissing, but Eames takes him up in his hands and pulls him to his chest again. The kitten sinks his little claws into Eames' shirt peevishly, and Arthur smothers a smile at the way Eames winces, but doesn't let go of him. After a moment Derek seems to figure out what his paws are for, and climbs his way up Eames' shirt, nosing at the skin Eames' open collar leaves on show. Arthur tries not to stare as Eames--giggles, there's no other word for it, a happy sound that makes Arthur warm in all sorts of places.
"Well, thank you ever so much, Arthur," Eames beams at him, digging into his pocket with one hand while the other juggles his new family member. "You have been invaluable." He passes Arthur a twenty.
"That's really not necessary," Arthur stammers, trying to wave it off, but Eames fixes him with those fascinating eyes of his, and Arthur finds himself taking the bill as if hypnotised.
"When do I need to bring him in next?" Eames asks, looking like he wants to whip out a pen and paper and write down Arthur's every word.
Arthur ponders as he stares at Derek, as the kitten curls up in the crook of Eames' arm. "In about three weeks, I should imagine -- he looks about seven weeks old."
"Right," Eames smiles, settling Derek more comfortably. "Well, then. I had better go home and call my mum, get a quick refresher course in kitten wrangling."
Arthur laughs, tickling Derek behind his ear. Derek opens a languid eye, fixes his gaze on him, then seems to decide he's no threat, because he closes his eyes again and starts to purr.
When he looks up again, Eames is staring at him, something warm in his gaze that makes Arthur break out in goosebumps. Arthur looks away, busies himself with unearthing an old business card.
"Here," he says, palming a biro and scribbling a few digits on its back. "This is my phone number. Call if you have any trouble your mom can't fix over the phone."
Eames takes it, again with that unnerving look in his eyes, and now there's a smile, too, and oh god, Arthur is not going to blush. He's not.
"Thanks again, darling," Eames says, low and warm.
Arthur watches him all the way out of the shop. When he's sure Eames is gone, he turns and thumps his forehead against the doorway to the back in despair. It doesn't help any.
Christopher watches him, unimpressed.
"Shut up," Arthur grumbles, and goes back to work.
Part Two
Author/Artist: sirona_gs and red_rahl
Team: ROMANCE!
Prompt: Touch
Word count: ~1,300 this part
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: None
Summary: Arthur meets a far-too-appealing stranger when he brings a foundling kitten to Arthur's pet store.
Notes: This story is a WIP collaboration, and will post once a week so that both red_rahl and me can polish our bits (so to speak). Title from The Cure's Lovecats.
[art] by red_rahl
[text] by sirona_gs
Christopher is not a happy turtle. Arthur often marvels how something so small can also be so incredibly fussy, and so much trouble. No matter how much he tries, Christopher remains stubbornly curled up in his shell, a tiny ball of mistrustful reptile that is causing Arthur no end of grief. There's nothing for it; he apologises mentally as he pokes his little finger in the back of the shell. Christopher's head shoots out and he looks at Arthur reproachfully. Arthur winces when he administers the vaccine -- it's for Christopher's own good, for god's sake, so why is Arthur feeling so damn guilty?
He gives Christopher a double helping of lettuce nevertheless, quietly grumbling to himself as he returns the turtle carefully to his small tank. Christopher looks lively enough; he heads for the food immediately, his long wrinkled neck enthusiastically outstretched. Arthur allows himself to run an affectionate finger over the back of Christopher's shell; the turtle pays him no mind, content with chewing the fresh leaves.
The doorbell jangles, and Arthur turns from the tank, a ready smile brightening his face. The new customer is -- well. Let's put it this way -- if Arthur got home to find that waiting for him in bed, he'd think it was Christmas and he had been a very good boy indeed. The man is tall, shoulders broad and chunky, tattoos peeking from underneath the tight sleeves of his T-shirt.
He's carrying a kitten. Arthur has to force himself not to coo at him.
"Oh god, I hope you can help me," the man says, obviously distressed, holding the kitten out with both hands. It's just a ball of grey fur, hardly even filling the huge palms. "Found him behind my flat, he'd fallen in the dumpster. Can you see if he's okay?"
Arthur hums, beckoning the man to bring the scrap of fur closer to the counter.
"How do you know it's a he?" Arthur asks curiously, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.
The man looks sheepish. "I don't, really. That was bad of me, wasn't it?"
He looks so concerned that Arthur can't help but smile at him reassuringly.
"Well, let's take a look at you, then," he murmurs at the kitten. It looks up at him with huge eyes, mewling pitifully.
Arthur feels along his body, checks the ribs, the legs, each tiny paw. The kitten looks healthy enough, even if its fur is a little matted.
"Looks like it's just old enough to go around without its mom," Arthur says, checking its teeth. The kitten squirms.
The man hums, leaning close enough that Arthur can feel the warmth of his body, the faint hint of aftershave, something fresh and woodsy that makes Arthur want to bury his nose in the man's neck.
Arthur's lost his focus -- the kitten attempts to claw at his hand, but Arthur gets it pinned with two long fingers and checks between its--his legs quickly.
"You're in luck, it really is a 'he'," Arthur tells the looming guy. Somehow he doesn't really mind the proximity.
The man grins. "That's lucky. I'd hate to have called him Derek for nothing."
Arthur blinks. "Derek?"
The guy looks terribly embarrassed all of a sudden, even going as far as to shuffle his feet. "Um, he's grey, right? So I thought, Grey's Anatomy, you know? And he's a boy, so... Derek...?" he flushes.
Arthur is utterly, irrevocably charmed.
"Makes sense," he says, and the guy smiles at him shyly. "Eames," he says, offering Arthur his hand.
Arthur peels one glove off and takes it. "Arthur Moss," he supplies. "Your discovery is perfectly healthy, Mr Eames. What do you intend to do with him? I can take him off your hands, if you want, I'm sure I can find a good home for him very soon, with those lovely green eyes of his."
Eames looks taken aback. "Oh, no, I'm taking him home," he insists, picking Derek up and cuddling him to his chest. "I found him," he adds, and to Arthur it sounds suspiciously like 'I found him first!'. He grins.
"That's great news, Mr Eames, but I have to ask -- are you prepared to take on a cat? It's not as much responsibility as a dog, but it's still a living thing, and needs a lot of care."
Eames smiles at him. Arthur feels like he's passed some kind of test. "My mum breeds cats," Eames confides. "I know a lot about them, including some things I'd really rather I didn't."
Arthur smiles down at Derek, back on the counter as Arthur prepares the usual vaccination for foundlings. He spreads the fur at the neck, squeezes the skin to form a fold, and deftly injects the liquid. Derek backs away, hissing, but Eames takes him up in his hands and pulls him to his chest again. The kitten sinks his little claws into Eames' shirt peevishly, and Arthur smothers a smile at the way Eames winces, but doesn't let go of him. After a moment Derek seems to figure out what his paws are for, and climbs his way up Eames' shirt, nosing at the skin Eames' open collar leaves on show. Arthur tries not to stare as Eames--giggles, there's no other word for it, a happy sound that makes Arthur warm in all sorts of places.
"Well, thank you ever so much, Arthur," Eames beams at him, digging into his pocket with one hand while the other juggles his new family member. "You have been invaluable." He passes Arthur a twenty.
"That's really not necessary," Arthur stammers, trying to wave it off, but Eames fixes him with those fascinating eyes of his, and Arthur finds himself taking the bill as if hypnotised.
"When do I need to bring him in next?" Eames asks, looking like he wants to whip out a pen and paper and write down Arthur's every word.
Arthur ponders as he stares at Derek, as the kitten curls up in the crook of Eames' arm. "In about three weeks, I should imagine -- he looks about seven weeks old."
"Right," Eames smiles, settling Derek more comfortably. "Well, then. I had better go home and call my mum, get a quick refresher course in kitten wrangling."
Arthur laughs, tickling Derek behind his ear. Derek opens a languid eye, fixes his gaze on him, then seems to decide he's no threat, because he closes his eyes again and starts to purr.
When he looks up again, Eames is staring at him, something warm in his gaze that makes Arthur break out in goosebumps. Arthur looks away, busies himself with unearthing an old business card.
"Here," he says, palming a biro and scribbling a few digits on its back. "This is my phone number. Call if you have any trouble your mom can't fix over the phone."
Eames takes it, again with that unnerving look in his eyes, and now there's a smile, too, and oh god, Arthur is not going to blush. He's not.
"Thanks again, darling," Eames says, low and warm.
Arthur watches him all the way out of the shop. When he's sure Eames is gone, he turns and thumps his forehead against the doorway to the back in despair. It doesn't help any.
Christopher watches him, unimpressed.
"Shut up," Arthur grumbles, and goes back to work.
Part Two