For [livejournal.com profile] foreverdirt, who took the phrase 'anyone from [livejournal.com profile] kettle' far too literally : this is Mike and Sue, Colin's parents, some 17 years before the current timeline of [livejournal.com profile] kettle [who does have a new year entry due to happen - I just have to write a letter from Ali's POV, I think. *gulp*] It was actually really nifty to give a lot mor thought to their early years together. My apologies to the lady in question that the resultant ficlet is so tiny.

***** ***** *****

"Mike? Is that you?"

"Honey I'm home!"

His voice is rich with laughter and comfort. Simply the sound of his key in the lock to their little maisonette calms the anxiety that churns up her stomach, alone here all day with this tiny precious life-changing person who couldn't tell her if she was doing right by him or not.

Even dirty with brick dust and mud, his hair a mess of rain-soaked sweat-soaked hat-mashed curls, her heart still jumps each time she sees him. And for all that she's not gotten a brush through her hair at all today and her slacks have been worn for three days straight, his strong arm finds her waist, pulling her in close to be kissed.

He still makes her feel like the princess to his knight, and that maybe even though they're both so tired all the time, and their parents are so upset. Maybe even though all their dreams have been re-made around the baby sleeping in the carry cot on the table, that maybe, just maybe, this is what happily ever after looks like from the inside.
For [livejournal.com profile] foreverdirt, who took the phrase 'anyone from [livejournal.com profile] kettle' far too literally : this is Mike and Sue, Colin's parents, some 17 years before the current timeline of [livejournal.com profile] kettle [who does have a new year entry due to happen - I just have to write a letter from Ali's POV, I think. *gulp*] It was actually really nifty to give a lot mor thought to their early years together. My apologies to the lady in question that the resultant ficlet is so tiny.

***** ***** *****

"Mike? Is that you?"

"Honey I'm home!"

His voice is rich with laughter and comfort. Simply the sound of his key in the lock to their little maisonette calms the anxiety that churns up her stomach, alone here all day with this tiny precious life-changing person who couldn't tell her if she was doing right by him or not.

Even dirty with brick dust and mud, his hair a mess of rain-soaked sweat-soaked hat-mashed curls, her heart still jumps each time she sees him. And for all that she's not gotten a brush through her hair at all today and her slacks have been worn for three days straight, his strong arm finds her waist, pulling her in close to be kissed.

He still makes her feel like the princess to his knight, and that maybe even though they're both so tired all the time, and their parents are so upset. Maybe even though all their dreams have been re-made around the baby sleeping in the carry cot on the table, that maybe, just maybe, this is what happily ever after looks like from the inside.
Something else I've never done - Tom from Becka's POV.

***** ***** *****

A whole afternoon and a three inch folder of case studies on the statistical analysis of supreme court judge's appointments and decisions, and he still had that indefinable glow to him. Happy. Honest to goodness just plain happy, and if he wasn't so oblivious to the ambient levels of happy-cute-couple he was giving off she might have been tempted to kill him, or at least be insanely jealous. As it was she was pretty happy herself, to be sat here at the foot of his bed teasing him and watching him grin and colour a little when she pushed for details that she didn’t really expect him to give away.

When the phone rang he made expressive eyes at her, and she got to her feet, taking their coffee mugs as collateral, and made herself scarce, even though he'd said 'Hey mum!" and not "um. Hi." with that specific sort of softness that would give away to anyone with ears what he was feeling. Not that she'd ever heard him say that, but watching the kettle not boiling gave her plenty of time to decide that that's probably what would have happened if it had been Oliver.

She was flicking through the tv channels trying to find something that wasn't kids tv or adverts – trust a boys flat to have really crappy digital - when Tom followed her down. He accepted the offered mug with a thank you and as far as she was concerned that counted as an apology accepted for making herself at home.

"Everything alright?"

"Actually – yeah. She's being really really cool about everything. Wants me to go home for a weekend sometime, but she's not demanding the whole of the study break like your family. Says I deserve the chance to revise without having to share stress with Seth, and by the way, she says hi to you too."

"Cool – say hi back when you speak next. Anyway it's not like you're going to get anything done while I'm not here."

She smirked a little into her coffee, letting him list all the work he'd been doing without her intervention. They were a damn fine study pair, if she did say so herself, but they wouldn’t be them if she missed an opportunity to tease him a little.

"So when you said you'd got naff all done and were going to fail and it was all pointless, you were, in point of fact, lying to me?"

Busted! And by the look on his face, he knew it. In the end he gave up on attempting to bluster and settled back in his armchair with a smile of his own again.

"Basically, yeah. Jaffa cake?"
Something else I've never done - Tom from Becka's POV.

***** ***** *****

A whole afternoon and a three inch folder of case studies on the statistical analysis of supreme court judge's appointments and decisions, and he still had that indefinable glow to him. Happy. Honest to goodness just plain happy, and if he wasn't so oblivious to the ambient levels of happy-cute-couple he was giving off she might have been tempted to kill him, or at least be insanely jealous. As it was she was pretty happy herself, to be sat here at the foot of his bed teasing him and watching him grin and colour a little when she pushed for details that she didn’t really expect him to give away.

When the phone rang he made expressive eyes at her, and she got to her feet, taking their coffee mugs as collateral, and made herself scarce, even though he'd said 'Hey mum!" and not "um. Hi." with that specific sort of softness that would give away to anyone with ears what he was feeling. Not that she'd ever heard him say that, but watching the kettle not boiling gave her plenty of time to decide that that's probably what would have happened if it had been Oliver.

She was flicking through the tv channels trying to find something that wasn't kids tv or adverts – trust a boys flat to have really crappy digital - when Tom followed her down. He accepted the offered mug with a thank you and as far as she was concerned that counted as an apology accepted for making herself at home.

"Everything alright?"

"Actually – yeah. She's being really really cool about everything. Wants me to go home for a weekend sometime, but she's not demanding the whole of the study break like your family. Says I deserve the chance to revise without having to share stress with Seth, and by the way, she says hi to you too."

"Cool – say hi back when you speak next. Anyway it's not like you're going to get anything done while I'm not here."

She smirked a little into her coffee, letting him list all the work he'd been doing without her intervention. They were a damn fine study pair, if she did say so herself, but they wouldn’t be them if she missed an opportunity to tease him a little.

"So when you said you'd got naff all done and were going to fail and it was all pointless, you were, in point of fact, lying to me?"

Busted! And by the look on his face, he knew it. In the end he gave up on attempting to bluster and settled back in his armchair with a smile of his own again.

"Basically, yeah. Jaffa cake?"
The risotto was almost an hour of gentle coaxing, thawing himself over the stove as the mushrooms melted in the butter; the mead seeped into the rice. It was that morning's walk, the bluster of the wind and the electric earth of the finding, the selecting, the harvesting that had lead him a pretty measure off his usual paths. Served up in crackle-glazed pottery with mismatched forks, the bowls were a gift, but one that he was loath to interrupt Jem's study with. His lover barely managed to ignore the call of the present puzzle long enough to brush his face against the autumn mist still caught in Kael's clothes.

Eating alone with only the radio for company, a low babble of background voices, mug of tea steaming and the meal settling warm and solid comfort in his belly wasn't so bad, the time another gift to their love. Time for Jem to pursue his arguments and record his reasons, and time for Kael to prepare a final gift.

Once the apples were sliced, crisp white flesh and gleaming rosy skins dusted with lemon and cloves, and the sloes and elderflowers were done drinking down honey; once the blackberries he'd cradled home were tumbled into their platter, and the mead and cream whipped heavy decadence together. Once all these preparations were complete, then Jem's focus would have no other place to rest than on Kael's hands laying him gently on their bed. Kael's knots holding him there, and Kael's tongue transporting tastes from mouth to mouth, telling tales of his scavenger hunt and of his love and of his hungers.
The risotto was almost an hour of gentle coaxing, thawing himself over the stove as the mushrooms melted in the butter; the mead seeped into the rice. It was that morning's walk, the bluster of the wind and the electric earth of the finding, the selecting, the harvesting that had lead him a pretty measure off his usual paths. Served up in crackle-glazed pottery with mismatched forks, the bowls were a gift, but one that he was loath to interrupt Jem's study with. His lover barely managed to ignore the call of the present puzzle long enough to brush his face against the autumn mist still caught in Kael's clothes.

Eating alone with only the radio for company, a low babble of background voices, mug of tea steaming and the meal settling warm and solid comfort in his belly wasn't so bad, the time another gift to their love. Time for Jem to pursue his arguments and record his reasons, and time for Kael to prepare a final gift.

Once the apples were sliced, crisp white flesh and gleaming rosy skins dusted with lemon and cloves, and the sloes and elderflowers were done drinking down honey; once the blackberries he'd cradled home were tumbled into their platter, and the mead and cream whipped heavy decadence together. Once all these preparations were complete, then Jem's focus would have no other place to rest than on Kael's hands laying him gently on their bed. Kael's knots holding him there, and Kael's tongue transporting tastes from mouth to mouth, telling tales of his scavenger hunt and of his love and of his hungers.
.

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags