[tod] 42 - d(are): compare yourself to someone
“Okay…good, just snap those on…”
Part of it felt like sacrilege, standing there and allowing Houdini’s own handcuffs to be locked around his wrists, and yet part of him felt like he was welcoming back old friends. The cold metal, the scars from use and age…there was history there, a history some forgotten part of him remembered and celebrated. Everything else was reverence and awe, the joy of an ingénue sitting at his master’s feet.
He was the student, learning by doing. Simultaneously, the details coalesced in memories that he couldn’t avoid. Barechested, handcuffed, lungs filled with the scent of wood and plaster, dry parchment and ink, he felt a sense of belonging. He could even now remember the cell he had only seen once the night before, knew he had escaped it a dozen times in days past.
He stood a little taller in spite of himself as the final set of bracelets snapped on, unconsciously remembering the title that came with the task set before him. He was here to win his name back along with his skill.
King of Handcuffs.
The pride and the sacred duty of his craft settled over him, a mantle of power just as Ziyah stepped forward and slid behind him, hands going to his fly.
“What the…?”
“What? Hiding something, Tommy?”
He struggled only a little as Ziyah got his pants open and down his legs, tugging hard enough to trip him until he stepped out of his jeans, leaving him in just a pair of boxer briefs.
“Way I heard it, Houdini stripped for a lot of his escapes, right down to a loincloth. Sometimes he even did ‘em naked.”
“WOOT! I want naked!”
“Shut it, Sassy!” Tommy barked, laughing nervously as he turned back to Zee. “Seriously, gimme back my pants.”
Grinning, she leaned up to kiss him, deep and hard…and as she did, Tommy felt the slide of cold metal pass between her lips and into his mouth while the feel of her body pressed against his made his half-dressed state even more dangerous.
Giggling against his lips, she broke the kiss and kissed the tip of his nose. “Think baseball, cold showers…Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day.”
In spite of himself, he called up the image and found himself laughing…among other things. “I think I’m good.”
Stepping away, he felt himself become the thing she saw, the thing everyone else in the small courthouse beheld as he stood in cuffs and shorts while Fillmore from Channing’s show bent to put one of his boots back on and lock the weight around his ankle.
They saw the future king…and in that instant, Tommy felt the weight of the crown and the certainty that he was determined to reclaim.
Muse: Tommy Karras
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 463
Part of it felt like sacrilege, standing there and allowing Houdini’s own handcuffs to be locked around his wrists, and yet part of him felt like he was welcoming back old friends. The cold metal, the scars from use and age…there was history there, a history some forgotten part of him remembered and celebrated. Everything else was reverence and awe, the joy of an ingénue sitting at his master’s feet.
He was the student, learning by doing. Simultaneously, the details coalesced in memories that he couldn’t avoid. Barechested, handcuffed, lungs filled with the scent of wood and plaster, dry parchment and ink, he felt a sense of belonging. He could even now remember the cell he had only seen once the night before, knew he had escaped it a dozen times in days past.
He stood a little taller in spite of himself as the final set of bracelets snapped on, unconsciously remembering the title that came with the task set before him. He was here to win his name back along with his skill.
King of Handcuffs.
The pride and the sacred duty of his craft settled over him, a mantle of power just as Ziyah stepped forward and slid behind him, hands going to his fly.
“What the…?”
“What? Hiding something, Tommy?”
He struggled only a little as Ziyah got his pants open and down his legs, tugging hard enough to trip him until he stepped out of his jeans, leaving him in just a pair of boxer briefs.
“Way I heard it, Houdini stripped for a lot of his escapes, right down to a loincloth. Sometimes he even did ‘em naked.”
“WOOT! I want naked!”
“Shut it, Sassy!” Tommy barked, laughing nervously as he turned back to Zee. “Seriously, gimme back my pants.”
Grinning, she leaned up to kiss him, deep and hard…and as she did, Tommy felt the slide of cold metal pass between her lips and into his mouth while the feel of her body pressed against his made his half-dressed state even more dangerous.
Giggling against his lips, she broke the kiss and kissed the tip of his nose. “Think baseball, cold showers…Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day.”
In spite of himself, he called up the image and found himself laughing…among other things. “I think I’m good.”
Stepping away, he felt himself become the thing she saw, the thing everyone else in the small courthouse beheld as he stood in cuffs and shorts while Fillmore from Channing’s show bent to put one of his boots back on and lock the weight around his ankle.
They saw the future king…and in that instant, Tommy felt the weight of the crown and the certainty that he was determined to reclaim.
Muse: Tommy Karras
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 463