FIC: Other Ideas
Jan. 31st, 2012 06:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaubraFirst thing I've written in a month! It's just a little thing, but still, making a small crack in my monumental writer's block feels like a relief all the same. I hope you enjoy it. :)
Fandom: UK Politics
Title: Other Ideas
Ship(s): Chris Bryant/Jared Cranney
Word Count: 710
Rating: PG
Summary: Chris is not a particularly cooperative patient, but Jared has ideas about how to distract him from his pique at being ill. For a prompt at the meme that wanted Chris being vulnerable.
Disclaimer: This is a creative work of fiction, composed of fictional characters inspired by the public personas of living people. No injury or disrespect is intended to the persons named. If you've found this by googling yourself or someone you know, stop playing on the Internet and go run the country.
Other Ideas
“This,” Chris says, “is not funny.”
He probably thinks his glare is as effective as it usually is, a fearsome sarcastic thing that makes its objects flinch and re-evaluate their life choices. And so it would be - except for a certain watery glassiness of the eyes and a dribbly nose, the latter now buried unceremoniously in a tissue snatched from Jared’s outstretched hand.
“Certainly not,” Jared agrees, drawing his eyebrows down solemnly. “Not funny at all.”
Chris’s eyes regard him suspiciously from above the tissue. “You probably gave it to me.”
“Yes,” Jared says, folding his feet under him on the bed and leaning back against Chris’s legs. “That is entirely reasonable. I was secretly sick all of last week, and I came up with this dastardly plan to pretend I wasn’t in order to make you sick too. Because I hate you.”
“Wanker,” Chris says; the epithet is more pitiful than forceful.
“Actually,” Jared says, tapping his finger against his lips, “I shouldn’t be coming in here at all. I should be staying as far away from you as possible, so I don’t catch your germs.”
Chris’s reddened nose wrinkles. “Fine. Be that way. Go away and leave me all alone and sick and dying. Go have fun with your friends and don’t spare a thought…”
From long experience, Jared knows that once well-launched, Chris is nearly impossible to stop. “Or,” Jared says, cutting him off in mid-tirade, “I could do something else.”
Chris affects a dramatic pout, but Jared can see the real fretfulness underneath. “What?”
Jared plucks the used tissue from his fingers and deposits it in the handily-placed bin. (His idea.) “This,” he says, and leans down.
Chris is slightly feverish under his touch, his forehead warm against Jared’s lips.
“Are you my mother?” Chris says, peevishly.
Jared feels laughter bubbling up; a familiar sensation, when living with Chris. “Hush,” he says, trying for mock severity but ending up with a distinctly fond edge. “Hush,” he says again, and finds Chris’s lips with his own.
Chris’s mouth is hot under his, and ever so slightly sour; Jared has known worse over the years, and the taste fades as his tongue slides against Chris’s, slow and deliberate. He feels Chris’s hand emerge from under the duvet and come to rest on his hipbone, warm and claiming.
After a moment, Jared pulls back. Chris’s eyes are shut, long eyelashes against flushed cheeks. Jared runs a finger along his jaw, featherlight; Chris shivers under his hand, and slowly tips his head back, wordless.
“But then I suppose,” Jared says, and finds that his own voice is slightly hoarse, “that I’ve already caught it from you. It’s somewhere in my system right now, incubating and getting ready to attack.”
“Attractive,” Chris says, but his eyes are still shut, and there is no bite to it.
Jared ignores him. “So trying not to catch it would be pointless.” He leans in to mouth at the underside of Chris’s jaw, just where he knows will make Chris suck in a shaky breath. “And I’ve had a better idea about how to spend the afternoon.”
“And what’s that?” Chris says, his voice wobbly.
“I rather thought seducing my husband might be fun,” Jared says, and bites down gently.
Chris’s hand on his hipbone is iron now, keeping him anchored, even as the little gasp escaping Chris’s lips makes him feel oddly like flying.
“Not sure how much energy I can muster,” Chris warns.
Jared pulls up the side of the duvet, ignoring Chris’s grimace as the cold air hits him, and snuggles in next to his husband’s long warmth. “You can pound me into the mattress another time,” he informs him, skating a finger across a pebbled nipple.
Frantic and wild is good; athletic and passionate is good; rough and fierce is good. Yet somehow, sometimes, slow and languid and unhurried, gentle and dreamy, can be something else entirely. Jared presses a kiss to Chris’s collarbone, merest whisper of a touch; Chris – indefatigable, unstoppable, whirlwind Chris – shudders, small caught sound edging from between his lips.
“Right now,” Jared says, letting his breath flow across the wetness left by his mouth, watching the muscles in Chris’s face contract and relax, “I have other ideas.”
~//~
Fandom: UK Politics
Title: Other Ideas
Ship(s): Chris Bryant/Jared Cranney
Word Count: 710
Rating: PG
Summary: Chris is not a particularly cooperative patient, but Jared has ideas about how to distract him from his pique at being ill. For a prompt at the meme that wanted Chris being vulnerable.
Disclaimer: This is a creative work of fiction, composed of fictional characters inspired by the public personas of living people. No injury or disrespect is intended to the persons named. If you've found this by googling yourself or someone you know, stop playing on the Internet and go run the country.
Other Ideas
“This,” Chris says, “is not funny.”
He probably thinks his glare is as effective as it usually is, a fearsome sarcastic thing that makes its objects flinch and re-evaluate their life choices. And so it would be - except for a certain watery glassiness of the eyes and a dribbly nose, the latter now buried unceremoniously in a tissue snatched from Jared’s outstretched hand.
“Certainly not,” Jared agrees, drawing his eyebrows down solemnly. “Not funny at all.”
Chris’s eyes regard him suspiciously from above the tissue. “You probably gave it to me.”
“Yes,” Jared says, folding his feet under him on the bed and leaning back against Chris’s legs. “That is entirely reasonable. I was secretly sick all of last week, and I came up with this dastardly plan to pretend I wasn’t in order to make you sick too. Because I hate you.”
“Wanker,” Chris says; the epithet is more pitiful than forceful.
“Actually,” Jared says, tapping his finger against his lips, “I shouldn’t be coming in here at all. I should be staying as far away from you as possible, so I don’t catch your germs.”
Chris’s reddened nose wrinkles. “Fine. Be that way. Go away and leave me all alone and sick and dying. Go have fun with your friends and don’t spare a thought…”
From long experience, Jared knows that once well-launched, Chris is nearly impossible to stop. “Or,” Jared says, cutting him off in mid-tirade, “I could do something else.”
Chris affects a dramatic pout, but Jared can see the real fretfulness underneath. “What?”
Jared plucks the used tissue from his fingers and deposits it in the handily-placed bin. (His idea.) “This,” he says, and leans down.
Chris is slightly feverish under his touch, his forehead warm against Jared’s lips.
“Are you my mother?” Chris says, peevishly.
Jared feels laughter bubbling up; a familiar sensation, when living with Chris. “Hush,” he says, trying for mock severity but ending up with a distinctly fond edge. “Hush,” he says again, and finds Chris’s lips with his own.
Chris’s mouth is hot under his, and ever so slightly sour; Jared has known worse over the years, and the taste fades as his tongue slides against Chris’s, slow and deliberate. He feels Chris’s hand emerge from under the duvet and come to rest on his hipbone, warm and claiming.
After a moment, Jared pulls back. Chris’s eyes are shut, long eyelashes against flushed cheeks. Jared runs a finger along his jaw, featherlight; Chris shivers under his hand, and slowly tips his head back, wordless.
“But then I suppose,” Jared says, and finds that his own voice is slightly hoarse, “that I’ve already caught it from you. It’s somewhere in my system right now, incubating and getting ready to attack.”
“Attractive,” Chris says, but his eyes are still shut, and there is no bite to it.
Jared ignores him. “So trying not to catch it would be pointless.” He leans in to mouth at the underside of Chris’s jaw, just where he knows will make Chris suck in a shaky breath. “And I’ve had a better idea about how to spend the afternoon.”
“And what’s that?” Chris says, his voice wobbly.
“I rather thought seducing my husband might be fun,” Jared says, and bites down gently.
Chris’s hand on his hipbone is iron now, keeping him anchored, even as the little gasp escaping Chris’s lips makes him feel oddly like flying.
“Not sure how much energy I can muster,” Chris warns.
Jared pulls up the side of the duvet, ignoring Chris’s grimace as the cold air hits him, and snuggles in next to his husband’s long warmth. “You can pound me into the mattress another time,” he informs him, skating a finger across a pebbled nipple.
Frantic and wild is good; athletic and passionate is good; rough and fierce is good. Yet somehow, sometimes, slow and languid and unhurried, gentle and dreamy, can be something else entirely. Jared presses a kiss to Chris’s collarbone, merest whisper of a touch; Chris – indefatigable, unstoppable, whirlwind Chris – shudders, small caught sound edging from between his lips.
“Right now,” Jared says, letting his breath flow across the wetness left by his mouth, watching the muscles in Chris’s face contract and relax, “I have other ideas.”
~//~
