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fightingthecage) wrote2005-07-04 03:07 am
fightingthecage) wrote2005-07-04 03:07 am
Legoland
This is just a drabble/ficlet - its taken from something a bit longer that I was writing this evening. It was going to be a birthday fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wonsuitewhirled but it stops being her birthday in 90 minutes (I'm slow today)...and I haven't got on to the Tony parts yet. So - I'm sorry for being of the suckage today Mary, but I'll finish it ASAP and send it as a late gift when its done, OK? And I'm dedicating it to you anyway, cos its schmoop. :)
The term Legoland is nothing to do with theme parks BTW - its what some people call the headquarters of MI-6, because the building looks like its made out of lego blocks. :)
Legoland
7am arrival and it was overcast and cold, not that he cared or even really noticed. It didn’t take long to clear customs and British Airways had managed not to lose his one bag, so by 07:45 he was in a cab, heading slowly towards Chelsea in the morning traffic. The tube would have been quicker but it was still early and anyway, he didn’t want the crowds of people. He just wanted to get there.
The cab driver was chatty as usual but he managed to get away with the most minimal of replies…yes, he was American, yes he’d been to London before, no he didn’t mind the cold because it was nice at Christmas and it would make a change from winter days that you could spend on the beach if you wanted to…yes he was from California…
He watched the Thames slide by on his right as they crawled up the Embankment, things becoming a little familiar now even though he’d only stayed in this part of town once before. He could see up the river but not as far as the Houses of Parliament…that didn’t interest him anyway. He could see the building he hated, it stuck out like a sore thumb, all angular blocks and green and cream, he hated it because it separated him from the one thing he had come to rely on – he averted his eyes when the cab took a left onto a quieter road, gardens to his left and his stomach clenched in excitement because he was almost there.
08:30. The house seemed quiet but he knew that its occupant would be awake, because even though he liked sleep, he rarely slept late. And this would be pretty late for him. He peeked in through the sitting room window, taking advantage of the way the curtains were open – no signs of life. He could see through to the kitchen and he wasn’t in there either…he grinned madly and slid his key into the lock. He was upstairs – it was perfect.
The key turned silently and he slipped inside, listening hard. There was the sound of running water and for he second, he contemplated heading straight upstairs…but no, he’d wait. He hid his bag behind the sofa in the living room and went into the kitchen, flipped on the coffee machine and examined the fridge for food. He didn’t know why because he was useless at cooking but it was the thought that counted, right? His eyes ran over possibilities…there were eggs. He knew how to boil those. Bacon? Yeah, he could probably manage not to burn it if he had to and there were sausages too…but could you have bacon and sausage with boiled eggs? It didn’t seem right. He took his time in deciding because he knew there wasn’t a hope in hell of him actually making breakfast anyway, and the more time he spent lingering here the more likely it was that he’d run out of time.
The water upstairs shut off, proving his theory. He shot a glance at the coffee machine - it was almost done – and went to conceal himself in the enclave by the back door, trying not to laugh out loud and ruin everything.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and suddenly the urge to laugh died, replaced instead by a low excitement, a sudden realisation that he’d see him again in a moment, be able to touch him, it had been two months…and because it was them, there was always the faint tinge of ‘What if this backfires? What if he changed his mind…?’ even though he knew it probably wasn’t likely. The tiny tendril of doubt still haunted him…but not enough to stop the other 95% of him from being happy.
He turned his head away when he entered the room because otherwise he’d see him looking. As soon as he passed the doorway though, he edged an eye round the wall and his heart skipped a beat because even though it was cold outside, it was warm in the house, warm enough apparently to walk around dressed only in sweat pants. Wet hair gleamed but he hadn’t shaved – it was the weekend, he never shaved on weekends – and the faint smell of his cologne travelled to senses that were searching for it.
He got ready to move…he saw him walk automatically to the coffee maker and reach out a hand to flick it on. A hand that stopped just before it reached the button…and that was his cue, move while he was still confused…he approached silently with a grin that only got wider as he saw that he’d been figured out – he watched the shoulders relax and the head fall back, heard a chuckle sound out and there was no flinch when he slid his arms round him from behind and rested his face against the back of his head.
They stood for a few minutes in silence, eyes closed, just getting reacquainted. Then eventually,
‘How long have you been here?’
A murmur into his neck, ‘About ten minutes,’ before a hand slid up and rested over his heart, feeling it thud for a moment and noting that it still quickened further when he pressed his lips into his skin.
Tony let out a long breath at the sensation, unconsciously moved so the hand that he’d rested on the arm round his waist could interlock its fingers with the others’. ‘You weren’t planning on making breakfast were you?’ He felt the smile on his neck and his muscles tensed at the sound of the rough chuckle in his ear.
‘I thought about it. You don’t want me to?’ He managed to sound put out and Tony laughed while covering the hand on his heart with his own.
‘No, it’s probably safer if you don’t.’ He wanted to say more but the kissing on his neck was making it hard to focus. Still, he should try. ‘And anyway, now I’m mad.’
‘Mad?’
More kisses, the barest hint of a soft tongue and Tony almost forgot what he had been trying to say. ‘Yeah. I needn’t have bothered coming downstairs. You should’a just come up.’
‘Mmmm...more fun this way. And I need coffee.’ But he didn’t move, didn’t know if he could. He just stood and held him, breathing him in, letting the mad anticipation settle into the warm glow of comfortable familiarity that he’d come to love. And when it had settled and that 5% of doubt had disappeared and he knew for sure that his presence was welcome – only then did he turn him round in his arms, run a hand through his hair while losing himself in the deep brown eyes before kissing him properly, deeply, trying to explain how much he’d missed him over the last two months without having to say it.
Tony let himself be held, let himself be moved and returned the kiss with equal fervour, not caring about the faint taste of old nicotine and coffee because that was just what Jack tasted like and he’d been desperate for it for two months now. He let it run its course, then broke off and pulled him close, holding him tight and vibrating with the sensation of having the lean body next to his again. ‘Missed you Jack.’ He felt arms tighten around him further and smiled, because he’d been dreading today but now it was perfect.
Jack pulled him as close as it was possible for him to be, glad that he’d made the trip, glad that he could be here, glad that he had someone once again that he would do anything for – including flying six thousand miles for a two day visit, just could he could whisper three words in his ear.
‘Happy Birthday Tony.’
wonsuitewhirled but it stops being her birthday in 90 minutes (I'm slow today)...and I haven't got on to the Tony parts yet. So - I'm sorry for being of the suckage today Mary, but I'll finish it ASAP and send it as a late gift when its done, OK? And I'm dedicating it to you anyway, cos its schmoop. :)The term Legoland is nothing to do with theme parks BTW - its what some people call the headquarters of MI-6, because the building looks like its made out of lego blocks. :)
Legoland
7am arrival and it was overcast and cold, not that he cared or even really noticed. It didn’t take long to clear customs and British Airways had managed not to lose his one bag, so by 07:45 he was in a cab, heading slowly towards Chelsea in the morning traffic. The tube would have been quicker but it was still early and anyway, he didn’t want the crowds of people. He just wanted to get there.
The cab driver was chatty as usual but he managed to get away with the most minimal of replies…yes, he was American, yes he’d been to London before, no he didn’t mind the cold because it was nice at Christmas and it would make a change from winter days that you could spend on the beach if you wanted to…yes he was from California…
He watched the Thames slide by on his right as they crawled up the Embankment, things becoming a little familiar now even though he’d only stayed in this part of town once before. He could see up the river but not as far as the Houses of Parliament…that didn’t interest him anyway. He could see the building he hated, it stuck out like a sore thumb, all angular blocks and green and cream, he hated it because it separated him from the one thing he had come to rely on – he averted his eyes when the cab took a left onto a quieter road, gardens to his left and his stomach clenched in excitement because he was almost there.
08:30. The house seemed quiet but he knew that its occupant would be awake, because even though he liked sleep, he rarely slept late. And this would be pretty late for him. He peeked in through the sitting room window, taking advantage of the way the curtains were open – no signs of life. He could see through to the kitchen and he wasn’t in there either…he grinned madly and slid his key into the lock. He was upstairs – it was perfect.
The key turned silently and he slipped inside, listening hard. There was the sound of running water and for he second, he contemplated heading straight upstairs…but no, he’d wait. He hid his bag behind the sofa in the living room and went into the kitchen, flipped on the coffee machine and examined the fridge for food. He didn’t know why because he was useless at cooking but it was the thought that counted, right? His eyes ran over possibilities…there were eggs. He knew how to boil those. Bacon? Yeah, he could probably manage not to burn it if he had to and there were sausages too…but could you have bacon and sausage with boiled eggs? It didn’t seem right. He took his time in deciding because he knew there wasn’t a hope in hell of him actually making breakfast anyway, and the more time he spent lingering here the more likely it was that he’d run out of time.
The water upstairs shut off, proving his theory. He shot a glance at the coffee machine - it was almost done – and went to conceal himself in the enclave by the back door, trying not to laugh out loud and ruin everything.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and suddenly the urge to laugh died, replaced instead by a low excitement, a sudden realisation that he’d see him again in a moment, be able to touch him, it had been two months…and because it was them, there was always the faint tinge of ‘What if this backfires? What if he changed his mind…?’ even though he knew it probably wasn’t likely. The tiny tendril of doubt still haunted him…but not enough to stop the other 95% of him from being happy.
He turned his head away when he entered the room because otherwise he’d see him looking. As soon as he passed the doorway though, he edged an eye round the wall and his heart skipped a beat because even though it was cold outside, it was warm in the house, warm enough apparently to walk around dressed only in sweat pants. Wet hair gleamed but he hadn’t shaved – it was the weekend, he never shaved on weekends – and the faint smell of his cologne travelled to senses that were searching for it.
He got ready to move…he saw him walk automatically to the coffee maker and reach out a hand to flick it on. A hand that stopped just before it reached the button…and that was his cue, move while he was still confused…he approached silently with a grin that only got wider as he saw that he’d been figured out – he watched the shoulders relax and the head fall back, heard a chuckle sound out and there was no flinch when he slid his arms round him from behind and rested his face against the back of his head.
They stood for a few minutes in silence, eyes closed, just getting reacquainted. Then eventually,
‘How long have you been here?’
A murmur into his neck, ‘About ten minutes,’ before a hand slid up and rested over his heart, feeling it thud for a moment and noting that it still quickened further when he pressed his lips into his skin.
Tony let out a long breath at the sensation, unconsciously moved so the hand that he’d rested on the arm round his waist could interlock its fingers with the others’. ‘You weren’t planning on making breakfast were you?’ He felt the smile on his neck and his muscles tensed at the sound of the rough chuckle in his ear.
‘I thought about it. You don’t want me to?’ He managed to sound put out and Tony laughed while covering the hand on his heart with his own.
‘No, it’s probably safer if you don’t.’ He wanted to say more but the kissing on his neck was making it hard to focus. Still, he should try. ‘And anyway, now I’m mad.’
‘Mad?’
More kisses, the barest hint of a soft tongue and Tony almost forgot what he had been trying to say. ‘Yeah. I needn’t have bothered coming downstairs. You should’a just come up.’
‘Mmmm...more fun this way. And I need coffee.’ But he didn’t move, didn’t know if he could. He just stood and held him, breathing him in, letting the mad anticipation settle into the warm glow of comfortable familiarity that he’d come to love. And when it had settled and that 5% of doubt had disappeared and he knew for sure that his presence was welcome – only then did he turn him round in his arms, run a hand through his hair while losing himself in the deep brown eyes before kissing him properly, deeply, trying to explain how much he’d missed him over the last two months without having to say it.
Tony let himself be held, let himself be moved and returned the kiss with equal fervour, not caring about the faint taste of old nicotine and coffee because that was just what Jack tasted like and he’d been desperate for it for two months now. He let it run its course, then broke off and pulled him close, holding him tight and vibrating with the sensation of having the lean body next to his again. ‘Missed you Jack.’ He felt arms tighten around him further and smiled, because he’d been dreading today but now it was perfect.
Jack pulled him as close as it was possible for him to be, glad that he’d made the trip, glad that he could be here, glad that he had someone once again that he would do anything for – including flying six thousand miles for a two day visit, just could he could whisper three words in his ear.
‘Happy Birthday Tony.’