Kiss-A-Thon Fic -- "Opposites Attract"
Title: Opposites Attract
Pairing: Sean Murphy/Tim McManus
Word Count: 277
Authors Note: Dashed this out super-quick this morning for ozsaur, who's been bugging me for another kiss-fic for days. :D
Opposites Attract
by Severina
Tim gets to work early, stays late. Occasionally he manages to fly through the staff room, takes a chair long enough to gulp through a sandwich. More often he eats at his desk, hunched over files or working through yet another written proposal for yet another hapless scheme.
Sean likes routine: bowling on Tuesdays, darts on Fridays, crisp sheets and in bed by eleven. Sean takes twenty minutes to eat his roast-beef-on-rye, taking the time to savour every bite.
Tim brings his work home. Sean doesn’t think about the prison once those gates have clanged shut at the end of his shift.
So. There are arguments. Tim shouts, throws up his hands, gesticulates wildly. Sean crosses his arms at his chest, leans against the bedroom doorjamb and answers calmly, which just serves to make Tim shout and flail all the more.
Sean worries. He can’t help it. His old man had a heart attack at 45. He knows the signs.
But he can’t tell Tim to slow down when the thing he’s always loved about him is his passion.
So when Sean finds Tim asleep, head on the kitchen table and pen still clutched in his fist, he just presses a kiss to his forehead and eases the papers out from beneath his elbow. He scans the paperwork and shakes his head -- no way Glynn’s ever going to approve this one.
But he takes up a pen and gets to work anyway. He always was good at creative writing. He even has a few ideas to maybe, possibly, sweeten the proposal. Maybe Interpretative Dance Classes isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Sean snorts. Yeah, right.
.
Pairing: Sean Murphy/Tim McManus
Word Count: 277
Authors Note: Dashed this out super-quick this morning for ozsaur, who's been bugging me for another kiss-fic for days. :D
Opposites Attract
by Severina
Tim gets to work early, stays late. Occasionally he manages to fly through the staff room, takes a chair long enough to gulp through a sandwich. More often he eats at his desk, hunched over files or working through yet another written proposal for yet another hapless scheme.
Sean likes routine: bowling on Tuesdays, darts on Fridays, crisp sheets and in bed by eleven. Sean takes twenty minutes to eat his roast-beef-on-rye, taking the time to savour every bite.
Tim brings his work home. Sean doesn’t think about the prison once those gates have clanged shut at the end of his shift.
So. There are arguments. Tim shouts, throws up his hands, gesticulates wildly. Sean crosses his arms at his chest, leans against the bedroom doorjamb and answers calmly, which just serves to make Tim shout and flail all the more.
Sean worries. He can’t help it. His old man had a heart attack at 45. He knows the signs.
But he can’t tell Tim to slow down when the thing he’s always loved about him is his passion.
So when Sean finds Tim asleep, head on the kitchen table and pen still clutched in his fist, he just presses a kiss to his forehead and eases the papers out from beneath his elbow. He scans the paperwork and shakes his head -- no way Glynn’s ever going to approve this one.
But he takes up a pen and gets to work anyway. He always was good at creative writing. He even has a few ideas to maybe, possibly, sweeten the proposal. Maybe Interpretative Dance Classes isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Sean snorts. Yeah, right.
.