2nd BMB fic
6/11/03 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minervasoloSomething I have just learnt:
Alexander the Great was short, left-handed, epileptic and bisexual. He also dyed his hair with saffron, to make it reddish.
This is going to get worked into a fic, some how. If not Tybalt, then Schuldig. Some bisexual redhead, who i can get away with claiming is left-handed.
I wanted to write Skibalt, so i figured I'd give it a shot. It morphed through several different plot bunnies. I may take another plot bunny in as a sequel. Or maybe just write another fic.
You know, once you start writing BMB (all characters of which belong to K Sandra Fuhr - you didn't spot a missing disclaimer, honest, this was here all along) fics they suddenly get much easier. I've been trying and failing for ages, and suddenly two on two consecutive days. Woo!
Skids leant over and pulled the strand of hair out of Tybalt's mouth, drawing the rehead's attention back to himself. Tybalt looked guilty for the briefest of moments before remembering that he was Tybalt, and he never felt guilty or ashamed or embarrassed about anything. Even hair chewing.
Skids gave Tybalt a speculative look. "I've never seen you do that before," he said. "I hear it gives you hair balls."
"Yeah," Tybalt shrugged. "Guess I was thinking or something."
"What about?" Sometimes Skids felt a bit bad for Tybalt, who had to listen to him talk for hours about Cy and Harley and Mikhael and those bullies and everyone. Skids knew he wasn't the only one with problems, but Tybalt was a very good listener. And he was pretty to look at, which made it even easy to keep talking, because as long as they were talking they were together, and he could look at the prettiness.
Skids had no problem acknowledging that he could be shallow. He simply didn't see it as a bad thing.
Tybalt shrugged. Again.
Skids pouted. "Come on, something's bothering you. Please talk to me? Is it about Harley?"
"No," Tybalt sighed. "Look, it's nothing important. How did your band practise got the other day?"
"It didn't," Skids dismissed the change of subject. "Is it about Apollo?"
"Apollo's fine. In New York, actually. Got the place to myself. What do you mean band practise didn't happen? The guys didn't blow you off again, did they?"
"With Sheequa leaving and Harley getting committed," they shared a grin at their private joke, which took the sting from the up-and-coming event, just a bit, "there wasn't much point. Are you on your own? Lonely?"
"Me?" Tybalt snorted. "We both know that if I don't want to be on my own I won't be."
"Do you want me to go?" Skids asked, eyes wide.
Tybalt grimaced. Part of him defintely wanted Skids out of there, so he could go back to feeling sorry for himself and moping around the house, locking himself in the bathroom and eatting copious amounts of ice-cream, instead of pretending that everything was fine and he was happy to listen to Skids whinge about Harley again. Another part of him couldn't bear the idea of Skids leaving. He wanted the distraction Skids provided. He wanted to think about Harley and how cute the blond was, and their shared infatuation with him. Maybe if he pretended he was fine long enough he would actually end up fine.
"Tybalt?" Skids stared at him. "I didn't mean to intrude. You should have just said," he sighed. "I don't want to bother you."
They were still standing in the entrance hall, Tybalt realised with a guilty jolt. Skids had turned up, wanting consoling for the latest imagined slight, and Tybalt hadn't even let him sit down. Passive aggressive? Well, it was a change from outrightly aggressive. Skids didn't deserve it, Tybalt knew. The slights weren't imagined, but sometimes Skids didn't see that his friends didn't mean to hurt him. He certainly deserved more than to be kept standing in the hallway like a double-glazing salesman. Skids pulled on his coat again and turned away from Tybalt.
Without thinking about it, Tybalt's hand shot out and grabbed Skids's elbow. The younger man turned back.
Tybalt's mouth worked furiously for a moment before any sound came out. "Let's go out together," he eventually managed. "For a walk. It's fall, the park'll look pretty."
Skids beamed at him then. "That'd be great. Get your coat on!"
Tyablt smiled at him and grabbed a long jacket of the coatrack without looking at it. Slipping it on, he reaised too late that it was one of Apollo's, but the tan coloured wool was so warm and soft he did it up anyway. Glancing into the full length mirrored that was hung on the wall by the door - it was Tybalt's house, of course there was a full legnth mirror next to the front door - he realised it looked amazing on him too.
"Apollo's not getting this back," he murmured to himself.
"You look great," Skids said warmly. He opened the front door, and reached a recently gloved hand out to Tybalt. Tybalt stared at it for a second, then slipped his own hand into it with an odd smile on his face. Skids led him down the front steps and they set off towards the nearest park, hand in hand, Tybalt shooting sideways looks at Skids whenever he thought the younger man wasn't looking.
They didn't speak for a long time, not even after they reached the park. Wandering around a large central lake, they both appreciated the colours of autumn in their own ways. Ignoring squealing chldren, lovesick teenagers and grumbling old women they took their time. Eventually, though, Tybalt started to get cold and tired. It was windy, and as nice as Apollo's coat looked it wasn't all that warm. Before Tybalt could say anything Skids seemed to pick up on this, and led him to a bench out of the wind, under a huge beech tree.
"Magnificent," Tybalt said, leaning back on the wooden bench, arms along the back, staring up through the scarlet and crimson leaves to the crisp blue sky above.
"I love this season," Skids said. "Everything's so bright and defined, like someone got a pen out and drew around everything. And it's so nice at sunset, when the light's, like, all liquid gold and warm looking."
"Yeah," Tybalt smiled. "This was a good idea, coming out. I really needed to get out of that house for a bit."
"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you now?" Skids asked softly.
"It's just, well, a bad time of year for me," Tybalt sighed. "Usually 'Pol's around, but he isn't right now."
Skids nodded, remembering everything Apollo had told him about his first meeting with Tybalt. It had to have been autumn or winter, Skids had guessed from references to Apollo's scarf. This time of year. Same time of year as when Tybalt's parents had died and his boyfriend had dumped him. He slid across the bench to lean up against Tybalt, who let his left arm slip from the back of the bench to settle around Skids's shoulders.
"I hate that fall has been ruined for me," Tybalt said bitterly. "I mean, I'm an artist, and there is no time of year so beautiful as fall. But I can't paint. I can't sculpt. I can hardly get out of bed in the mornings."
"I can't imagine," Skids said honestly. He pressed against Tybalt a little more firmly. "Things must be..." he searched for the right word.
"Yeah," Tybalt sighed. He pressed his nose into Skids's hair. It was nice, being close. When he was in this kind of mood he didn't let himself get close. Bad things had happened in the past. He'd been lucky to avoid a lawsuit. But this wasn't that kind of close.
"Mikhael's a bastard," Skids murmured.
"Yep," Tybalt sighed again. "A bastard I loved more than anything. Still do, sometimes. I hate that too."
Skids didn't say anything now. He knew how this went. You said just enough to get the person talking, and agreed when they wanted you to, but mostly you left them to get on with it and get whatever it was off their chest. He'd learnt how to be a good listener from Tybalt.
"I didn't tell him. I got that phone call from the police while Mik was away and when he got back I couldn't think of any way to tell him. I didn't want his pity, you see. If he had felt sorry for me, well, then I would have started feeling sorry for myself, which would mean actually acknowledging that it had happened, I suppose. But he knew something was up. He kept looking at me, and fussing over me, and I couldn't cope with it. So I threw myself into the grant stuff. I mean, I needed that grant more than he did, right? After all, Mik wasn't suddenly an orphan. Okay, his parents disowned him years ago, so it wasn't as though he was getting any financial help from them, but he could still have that outside chance."
Tybalt closed his eyes agianst the threatening tears. He felt Skids playing with his hair, and knew the brunette was plucking leaves from it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he opened his eyes again. Skids held a leaf in front of them, a lock of Tybalt's hair also entwinned in his fingers. Tybalt managed a small smile. They were the same colour.
"I pushed him away, Skids. He wanted to help and that scared me so I started doing whatever I could to keep him at a distance. We'd been dating for years, I knew all of his buttons. So I pushed 'competitiveness' and let the race begin. He wanted that grant too. And, well, I cheated on him. Has he told you this story?"
"He told Harley, so I heard it several months later with gaps in where Harley had been distracted because he was missing Buffy while Mik was pouring his heart out," Skids said. The cynicism reminded Tybalt that Giovanni knew a lot about emotional pain as well. He tighened his arm around Skids's shoulders and hugged him closer to his chest. Skids was warm, and the downy brown polo neck Tybalt was wearing under the 'borrowed' coat was thin enough for him absorb a bit of that heat.
"You know what sucked?" Tybalt shook his head. "I didn't even get the grant. I lost my parents, lost my boyfriend and lost my place at college, all within the space of about a month. Then, the icing on the cake: I got a letter telling me that I was about to lose the house my parents had left me because I wasn't paying the mortgage. No one told me about a mortgage! So I had to get a renter in, becuase not only did I have no college grant, not only had the bank refused to give me a third loan, but I didn't have a job either. Do you know how many pricks turned up before Apollo? One of them started stalking me when he found out I was bisexual and tried to shoot me, because apparently God hated me, which is pretty much what I thought at the time too. Another bastard laughed when I told him my parents had died. I punched him, and ended up at the police station. I knew the world wasn't a happy shiny place, I had always known, but I hadn't realised that every single person in it was a complete and utter bastard, who had taken offense to me personally and spent every moment of his or her day finding ways to hurt me more."
Tyblt sighed and used his free hand to tilt Skids's face to meet his eyes. "And that's why I hate fall, and it makes me want to die," he concluded.
Skids looked solemnly into his eyes for a moment, then darted forwards and kissed Tybalt on the cheek. Tybalt stared at him for a timeless second, a smiled tugging at his mouth. It felt strange. He never smiled at this time of year, not unless he was forcing it.
"Please don't want to die," Skids said. He wrapped an arm around Tybalt's waist and let Tybalt wrap his left arm around Skids's body, so they were caught in a tight hug. He felt, rather than saw, Tybalt begin to cry. It wa a strange feeling, but Skids, of all people, knew that sometimes you just needed a shoulder to cry on, no questions asked.
As they sat there the beech tree continued to shed leaves, the children continued to squeal, the teenagers to play loud music and shout their undying love and lust to each other over the top of the racket, and the old ladies to shout about everyone else in the park over the top of the teenagers. Time kept moving, so when Tybalt finally shuddered to a stop and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of Apollo's coat, a watery smile on his face, the sun had started to set. Tybalt hadn't really understood before, but now he could see what Skids meant about the light. It seemed heavier than normal light, thicker, plastering itself over everything and making the colours that much richer. Tybalt kept looking around, fixing the images in his mind to paint later. Skids didn't say anything, resting against Tybalt's chest and admiring the evening.
As it finally started to get honestly dark, Tybalt disentangled himself from Skids. "You're not to tell a soul about this," he warned. "Tybalt O'Donnell did not just cry in a pubic place. Tybalt O'Donnell does not cry at all, unless they are crocodile tears as part of the art of seduction."
Skids nodded, knowing grin on his face. "And does this other Tybalt, the fictional one who made my shoulder a bit soggy, feel better now?" he asked, gently teasing.
Tybalt paused for a moment, as if listening to something. "Yes, he does," he said finally. "And he wants me to express his gratitude to you."
"Tell him he's welcome," Skids grinned. Standing up, he held out a gloved hand to Tybalt. This time the redhead took it without hesitation.
They walked around the lake again, just becuase they could, and on the way home Tybalt bought them both some take-away hot chocolate in garishly coloured cardboard cups. Skids followed Tybalt into the Victorian house, invite not needed, and they sat together on the couch in the living room, drinking their cocoa. After a while Tybalt stood up and put some music on, something old and scratchy that Skids didn't know, a vinyl record, and plucked a dusty photo album from a top shelf.
"I thought you might like to see what my parents looked like," he explained. "Some people are curious about where the ravishingly good looks come from."
Skids grinned and snuggled close to Tybalt as he sat down. They spent an instructive half hour going through the album. Skids judged by the looks on Tybalt's face it was the first time he'd opened it since his parents's death. There were a lot of painful memories there, more than the ones he'd let out today, but there were some pleasant ones as well. Skids did the best he could to 'be there' for his friend, watching him so he knew when to ask about a photo to remind Tybalt of the good things.
Eventually Tybalt closed the album, but he didn't put it away immediately. The record had run out, a faint repetitive crackling sound filled the room, almost like the sound of a fire. A clock on the mantlepiece chimed eleven. Skids yawned. Outside a dog barked.
Tybalt chewed his hair. It was taking a risk, he knew. But then, this was Skids. Skids would know exactly what he meant, what he wanted. Tybalt wanted to be close, but not in 'that way'. Tybalt wanted to be comforted, but not pitied. Tybalt wanted to be allowed his space, but he didn't want to be alone.
"Do you want to stay over?" he asked.
Skids leant up and kissed him on the cheek again. "I couldn't walk home if I wanted to," he assured the redhead.
"'Pol won't appreciate you sleeping in his bed," Tybalt hinted.
"I don't mind taking the couch," Skids said innocently. Innocently? No. That implied naivete, and the twinkle in Skids's eyes meant he knew precisely where Tybalt wanted him to sleep.
Tybalt stood up and put the album away, then walked back so he was facing Skids. He looked him up and down speculatively, the usual predatory gint lurking in his eyes, but without the usual predatory intent. Then he held out a hand, as Skids had to him as they sat on the bench, and Skids took it with a smile.
There may be a sequel. Maybe not. Depends. Hmm. Changing the ending of this.
We have a very large box of Krispie Kremy Donuts downstairs, american style jobs. Aside from the obvious difference in being Crispy and being Cremey (now htere's a word I'll never figure out how to spell), if they aliterate already why changed the Cs to Ks? Huh?
I just noticed I had 'cockrack' instead of 'coatrack'. Sometmes I worry about my typos...
Alexander the Great was short, left-handed, epileptic and bisexual. He also dyed his hair with saffron, to make it reddish.
This is going to get worked into a fic, some how. If not Tybalt, then Schuldig. Some bisexual redhead, who i can get away with claiming is left-handed.
I wanted to write Skibalt, so i figured I'd give it a shot. It morphed through several different plot bunnies. I may take another plot bunny in as a sequel. Or maybe just write another fic.
You know, once you start writing BMB (all characters of which belong to K Sandra Fuhr - you didn't spot a missing disclaimer, honest, this was here all along) fics they suddenly get much easier. I've been trying and failing for ages, and suddenly two on two consecutive days. Woo!
Skids leant over and pulled the strand of hair out of Tybalt's mouth, drawing the rehead's attention back to himself. Tybalt looked guilty for the briefest of moments before remembering that he was Tybalt, and he never felt guilty or ashamed or embarrassed about anything. Even hair chewing.
Skids gave Tybalt a speculative look. "I've never seen you do that before," he said. "I hear it gives you hair balls."
"Yeah," Tybalt shrugged. "Guess I was thinking or something."
"What about?" Sometimes Skids felt a bit bad for Tybalt, who had to listen to him talk for hours about Cy and Harley and Mikhael and those bullies and everyone. Skids knew he wasn't the only one with problems, but Tybalt was a very good listener. And he was pretty to look at, which made it even easy to keep talking, because as long as they were talking they were together, and he could look at the prettiness.
Skids had no problem acknowledging that he could be shallow. He simply didn't see it as a bad thing.
Tybalt shrugged. Again.
Skids pouted. "Come on, something's bothering you. Please talk to me? Is it about Harley?"
"No," Tybalt sighed. "Look, it's nothing important. How did your band practise got the other day?"
"It didn't," Skids dismissed the change of subject. "Is it about Apollo?"
"Apollo's fine. In New York, actually. Got the place to myself. What do you mean band practise didn't happen? The guys didn't blow you off again, did they?"
"With Sheequa leaving and Harley getting committed," they shared a grin at their private joke, which took the sting from the up-and-coming event, just a bit, "there wasn't much point. Are you on your own? Lonely?"
"Me?" Tybalt snorted. "We both know that if I don't want to be on my own I won't be."
"Do you want me to go?" Skids asked, eyes wide.
Tybalt grimaced. Part of him defintely wanted Skids out of there, so he could go back to feeling sorry for himself and moping around the house, locking himself in the bathroom and eatting copious amounts of ice-cream, instead of pretending that everything was fine and he was happy to listen to Skids whinge about Harley again. Another part of him couldn't bear the idea of Skids leaving. He wanted the distraction Skids provided. He wanted to think about Harley and how cute the blond was, and their shared infatuation with him. Maybe if he pretended he was fine long enough he would actually end up fine.
"Tybalt?" Skids stared at him. "I didn't mean to intrude. You should have just said," he sighed. "I don't want to bother you."
They were still standing in the entrance hall, Tybalt realised with a guilty jolt. Skids had turned up, wanting consoling for the latest imagined slight, and Tybalt hadn't even let him sit down. Passive aggressive? Well, it was a change from outrightly aggressive. Skids didn't deserve it, Tybalt knew. The slights weren't imagined, but sometimes Skids didn't see that his friends didn't mean to hurt him. He certainly deserved more than to be kept standing in the hallway like a double-glazing salesman. Skids pulled on his coat again and turned away from Tybalt.
Without thinking about it, Tybalt's hand shot out and grabbed Skids's elbow. The younger man turned back.
Tybalt's mouth worked furiously for a moment before any sound came out. "Let's go out together," he eventually managed. "For a walk. It's fall, the park'll look pretty."
Skids beamed at him then. "That'd be great. Get your coat on!"
Tyablt smiled at him and grabbed a long jacket of the coatrack without looking at it. Slipping it on, he reaised too late that it was one of Apollo's, but the tan coloured wool was so warm and soft he did it up anyway. Glancing into the full length mirrored that was hung on the wall by the door - it was Tybalt's house, of course there was a full legnth mirror next to the front door - he realised it looked amazing on him too.
"Apollo's not getting this back," he murmured to himself.
"You look great," Skids said warmly. He opened the front door, and reached a recently gloved hand out to Tybalt. Tybalt stared at it for a second, then slipped his own hand into it with an odd smile on his face. Skids led him down the front steps and they set off towards the nearest park, hand in hand, Tybalt shooting sideways looks at Skids whenever he thought the younger man wasn't looking.
They didn't speak for a long time, not even after they reached the park. Wandering around a large central lake, they both appreciated the colours of autumn in their own ways. Ignoring squealing chldren, lovesick teenagers and grumbling old women they took their time. Eventually, though, Tybalt started to get cold and tired. It was windy, and as nice as Apollo's coat looked it wasn't all that warm. Before Tybalt could say anything Skids seemed to pick up on this, and led him to a bench out of the wind, under a huge beech tree.
"Magnificent," Tybalt said, leaning back on the wooden bench, arms along the back, staring up through the scarlet and crimson leaves to the crisp blue sky above.
"I love this season," Skids said. "Everything's so bright and defined, like someone got a pen out and drew around everything. And it's so nice at sunset, when the light's, like, all liquid gold and warm looking."
"Yeah," Tybalt smiled. "This was a good idea, coming out. I really needed to get out of that house for a bit."
"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you now?" Skids asked softly.
"It's just, well, a bad time of year for me," Tybalt sighed. "Usually 'Pol's around, but he isn't right now."
Skids nodded, remembering everything Apollo had told him about his first meeting with Tybalt. It had to have been autumn or winter, Skids had guessed from references to Apollo's scarf. This time of year. Same time of year as when Tybalt's parents had died and his boyfriend had dumped him. He slid across the bench to lean up against Tybalt, who let his left arm slip from the back of the bench to settle around Skids's shoulders.
"I hate that fall has been ruined for me," Tybalt said bitterly. "I mean, I'm an artist, and there is no time of year so beautiful as fall. But I can't paint. I can't sculpt. I can hardly get out of bed in the mornings."
"I can't imagine," Skids said honestly. He pressed against Tybalt a little more firmly. "Things must be..." he searched for the right word.
"Yeah," Tybalt sighed. He pressed his nose into Skids's hair. It was nice, being close. When he was in this kind of mood he didn't let himself get close. Bad things had happened in the past. He'd been lucky to avoid a lawsuit. But this wasn't that kind of close.
"Mikhael's a bastard," Skids murmured.
"Yep," Tybalt sighed again. "A bastard I loved more than anything. Still do, sometimes. I hate that too."
Skids didn't say anything now. He knew how this went. You said just enough to get the person talking, and agreed when they wanted you to, but mostly you left them to get on with it and get whatever it was off their chest. He'd learnt how to be a good listener from Tybalt.
"I didn't tell him. I got that phone call from the police while Mik was away and when he got back I couldn't think of any way to tell him. I didn't want his pity, you see. If he had felt sorry for me, well, then I would have started feeling sorry for myself, which would mean actually acknowledging that it had happened, I suppose. But he knew something was up. He kept looking at me, and fussing over me, and I couldn't cope with it. So I threw myself into the grant stuff. I mean, I needed that grant more than he did, right? After all, Mik wasn't suddenly an orphan. Okay, his parents disowned him years ago, so it wasn't as though he was getting any financial help from them, but he could still have that outside chance."
Tybalt closed his eyes agianst the threatening tears. He felt Skids playing with his hair, and knew the brunette was plucking leaves from it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he opened his eyes again. Skids held a leaf in front of them, a lock of Tybalt's hair also entwinned in his fingers. Tybalt managed a small smile. They were the same colour.
"I pushed him away, Skids. He wanted to help and that scared me so I started doing whatever I could to keep him at a distance. We'd been dating for years, I knew all of his buttons. So I pushed 'competitiveness' and let the race begin. He wanted that grant too. And, well, I cheated on him. Has he told you this story?"
"He told Harley, so I heard it several months later with gaps in where Harley had been distracted because he was missing Buffy while Mik was pouring his heart out," Skids said. The cynicism reminded Tybalt that Giovanni knew a lot about emotional pain as well. He tighened his arm around Skids's shoulders and hugged him closer to his chest. Skids was warm, and the downy brown polo neck Tybalt was wearing under the 'borrowed' coat was thin enough for him absorb a bit of that heat.
"You know what sucked?" Tybalt shook his head. "I didn't even get the grant. I lost my parents, lost my boyfriend and lost my place at college, all within the space of about a month. Then, the icing on the cake: I got a letter telling me that I was about to lose the house my parents had left me because I wasn't paying the mortgage. No one told me about a mortgage! So I had to get a renter in, becuase not only did I have no college grant, not only had the bank refused to give me a third loan, but I didn't have a job either. Do you know how many pricks turned up before Apollo? One of them started stalking me when he found out I was bisexual and tried to shoot me, because apparently God hated me, which is pretty much what I thought at the time too. Another bastard laughed when I told him my parents had died. I punched him, and ended up at the police station. I knew the world wasn't a happy shiny place, I had always known, but I hadn't realised that every single person in it was a complete and utter bastard, who had taken offense to me personally and spent every moment of his or her day finding ways to hurt me more."
Tyblt sighed and used his free hand to tilt Skids's face to meet his eyes. "And that's why I hate fall, and it makes me want to die," he concluded.
Skids looked solemnly into his eyes for a moment, then darted forwards and kissed Tybalt on the cheek. Tybalt stared at him for a timeless second, a smiled tugging at his mouth. It felt strange. He never smiled at this time of year, not unless he was forcing it.
"Please don't want to die," Skids said. He wrapped an arm around Tybalt's waist and let Tybalt wrap his left arm around Skids's body, so they were caught in a tight hug. He felt, rather than saw, Tybalt begin to cry. It wa a strange feeling, but Skids, of all people, knew that sometimes you just needed a shoulder to cry on, no questions asked.
As they sat there the beech tree continued to shed leaves, the children continued to squeal, the teenagers to play loud music and shout their undying love and lust to each other over the top of the racket, and the old ladies to shout about everyone else in the park over the top of the teenagers. Time kept moving, so when Tybalt finally shuddered to a stop and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of Apollo's coat, a watery smile on his face, the sun had started to set. Tybalt hadn't really understood before, but now he could see what Skids meant about the light. It seemed heavier than normal light, thicker, plastering itself over everything and making the colours that much richer. Tybalt kept looking around, fixing the images in his mind to paint later. Skids didn't say anything, resting against Tybalt's chest and admiring the evening.
As it finally started to get honestly dark, Tybalt disentangled himself from Skids. "You're not to tell a soul about this," he warned. "Tybalt O'Donnell did not just cry in a pubic place. Tybalt O'Donnell does not cry at all, unless they are crocodile tears as part of the art of seduction."
Skids nodded, knowing grin on his face. "And does this other Tybalt, the fictional one who made my shoulder a bit soggy, feel better now?" he asked, gently teasing.
Tybalt paused for a moment, as if listening to something. "Yes, he does," he said finally. "And he wants me to express his gratitude to you."
"Tell him he's welcome," Skids grinned. Standing up, he held out a gloved hand to Tybalt. This time the redhead took it without hesitation.
They walked around the lake again, just becuase they could, and on the way home Tybalt bought them both some take-away hot chocolate in garishly coloured cardboard cups. Skids followed Tybalt into the Victorian house, invite not needed, and they sat together on the couch in the living room, drinking their cocoa. After a while Tybalt stood up and put some music on, something old and scratchy that Skids didn't know, a vinyl record, and plucked a dusty photo album from a top shelf.
"I thought you might like to see what my parents looked like," he explained. "Some people are curious about where the ravishingly good looks come from."
Skids grinned and snuggled close to Tybalt as he sat down. They spent an instructive half hour going through the album. Skids judged by the looks on Tybalt's face it was the first time he'd opened it since his parents's death. There were a lot of painful memories there, more than the ones he'd let out today, but there were some pleasant ones as well. Skids did the best he could to 'be there' for his friend, watching him so he knew when to ask about a photo to remind Tybalt of the good things.
Eventually Tybalt closed the album, but he didn't put it away immediately. The record had run out, a faint repetitive crackling sound filled the room, almost like the sound of a fire. A clock on the mantlepiece chimed eleven. Skids yawned. Outside a dog barked.
Tybalt chewed his hair. It was taking a risk, he knew. But then, this was Skids. Skids would know exactly what he meant, what he wanted. Tybalt wanted to be close, but not in 'that way'. Tybalt wanted to be comforted, but not pitied. Tybalt wanted to be allowed his space, but he didn't want to be alone.
"Do you want to stay over?" he asked.
Skids leant up and kissed him on the cheek again. "I couldn't walk home if I wanted to," he assured the redhead.
"'Pol won't appreciate you sleeping in his bed," Tybalt hinted.
"I don't mind taking the couch," Skids said innocently. Innocently? No. That implied naivete, and the twinkle in Skids's eyes meant he knew precisely where Tybalt wanted him to sleep.
Tybalt stood up and put the album away, then walked back so he was facing Skids. He looked him up and down speculatively, the usual predatory gint lurking in his eyes, but without the usual predatory intent. Then he held out a hand, as Skids had to him as they sat on the bench, and Skids took it with a smile.
There may be a sequel. Maybe not. Depends. Hmm. Changing the ending of this.
We have a very large box of Krispie Kremy Donuts downstairs, american style jobs. Aside from the obvious difference in being Crispy and being Cremey (now htere's a word I'll never figure out how to spell), if they aliterate already why changed the Cs to Ks? Huh?
I just noticed I had 'cockrack' instead of 'coatrack'. Sometmes I worry about my typos...
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Date: 6/11/03 10:28 pm (UTC)Aww... your Skids is adorably sincere. Lovely fic. =3
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Date: 6/11/03 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/11/03 07:38 am (UTC)