R.E.D. Slash fanfic - Domestic
Jan. 12th, 2011 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nanuk_dainTitle: Domestic
Fandom: R.E.D.
Pairing: Frank Moses/William Cooper
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: humour, fluff, established relationship
Word count: approx. 1.500
Series: Belonging - Part somewhere really late in the series, like 10 years in the future or so
Disclaimer: Had it been mine, the movie would have turned out to contain some juicy Frank/Cooper scenes. Since there weren't any, it's obviously not mine. Pity, though.
Comment: Let me tell you, my diploma is attempting to kill me, and this is what I do for relaxation – writing some fic! So, this is what comes out when I've been working for 18 hours straight and finally decide to take two hours off before going to bed. Any mistakes are mine and I hope it's not too awful, seen how I wasn't entirely clear in the head when I wrote this. It's just a wee snippet, nothing too big. So, like it? Let me know? Make my day with a comment? Please?
This story takes place about a decade after Frank's and William's first meeting. I advise to read the other stories of the series, I'm referring to them here.
Summary: Some developments come silently, Frank and William remark while washing the dishes.
*********
“Frank?”
“Hm?” Frank looked up from the sink where he had his hands deep in the water, sponge in one hand and a plate from their dinner in the other. William stood right next to him, his hands hidden under the dish towel, drying the other plate. He had this cute frown on his face, the one that Frank had loved ever since the first moment he'd seen it.
“When did this happen?” Will asked after a moment, frown still in place.
“When did what happen?” Frank raised an eyebrow and looked at him quizzically.
“This.” Will removed one hand from under the dish towel and made a gesture that included them, the room, the house, the world, Frank wasn't entirely sure. “When did we become so...” Will trailed off, obviously in search for the right word. “... domestic?”
Frank smirked and leaned against the counter, letting the plate sink back under water. “I don't know. Sometime in the last decade?”
Will actually snorted. “Certainly not in the first few years.”
“Well, I agree that there was some excitement in those years.” Frank admitted and only partially managed to hide his grin.
“Some excitement?” William scoffed. “Frank, our house was blown up! Twice!”
“It was the third time for me, actually.” Frank remarked and shrugged casually. “You get used to it with the time.”
“Yeah, sure.” Will pulled one side of his mouth up in this weird half-smile-half-frown thing that Frank liked to tease him about.
“You just have to learn to have copies of all the important stuff in different locations all over the world.” Frank still sounded casual, then his eyes locked on the skin of William's neck where the collar of his shirt rode low enough to show a tiny patch of black ink. Frank's smile became teasing. “Oh, and carry what you never want to lose on you body. That helps, too.”
Will knew where he was looking, knew how much Frank loved it when Will wore shirts with a low collar so that the ink right below his left collarbone was visible. Thin and thick lines, twirling around each other in a pattern only Frank and Will understood. It was a map, it had been the route for William to find him when a mission in Mexico had gone terribly wrong. The only way for Frank to communicate without blowing his cover and risking being killed had been this tattoo parlour in Cancún, and so he had the tattoo artist mark William's skin with the ink, trusting the other agent would understand.
He had. And somehow, the tattoo had become more than a map, had become a mark, a reminder, a promise. Will never had it removed, even though it stretched from his collarbone over his shoulder and down his left upper arm. Frank knew William didn't regard the huge tattoo as a blemish, a flaw on his body, but instead he liked the meaning of the lines, liked their soft yet determined pattern, liked that they had brought him to Frank when he'd been dearly needed. And Frank always felt something swell inside him, inside his heart, when he saw his mark on the soft skin, felt it under his fingertips when he caressed him. This feeling had never changed, not even in all those years that he saw the tattoo every morning.
“It certainly has some advantages to carry it on your skin.” William said and Frank needed a moment to find back into reality, back into the kitchen, into their conversation. He let his gaze leave the black lines and looked up to find Will grinning, but his eyes were smiling softly. There were lines etched into the skin around his eyes, soft laugh lines that spoke of the overall happy times they had spent together. Frank noticed the first stray grey in the otherwise full and dark hair that stood up as messy as ever. He felt his fingers itch with the urge to bury them in the strands that he knew were as soft as they looked. Maybe pull William close, tease his lips with slow nips and lazy licks, press him against the counter and forget about washing up. Touch his skin, make him moan, take him right here in the kitchen. Wouldn't be the first time, anyway. This kitchen had seen a lot of action, Frank thought and felt the dirty grin on his own lips at the memories that flooded his mind.
“Do I even want to know what you're thinking there?” William asked and gave Frank a sceptical look.
“I could show you.” Frank offered with a teasing smile.
William chuckled. “That line only works once, and you already used it nine years ago.”
“It was worth a try.” Frank replied and wondered how he could find the sight of William in an old, tattered pair of jeans and a simple black shirt, feet bare and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, so utterly beautiful. They had lived together for nearly seven years, and still this simple moment of familiarity, of domesticity, was the most perfect moment ever. He had never expected he'd have that, not in this life, not with his way of living, the risks and the strains too great for any normal person.
But then, William wasn't normal. And he led the same life, he loved it and he understood it. Understood what it meant to be in this line of occupation, what it meant to go on a mission, to get hurt, to risk his life. It had never bothered Frank, until that one time when William had got seriously hurt while on a mission in France and it had been Frank who'd been left behind to worry. He had been scared, really and totally scared, for the first time in his life. There was still a long scar on Will's left arm where it had been broken twice with the bone cutting through the skin. Every time he saw it, it reminded of how precious their time together was. Of how quickly it could be over, even now that they weren't that much in the field any more.
“So, back to the topic.” William interrupted his train of thoughts. “When did we become domestic like this?”
“I'm getting old, Will, I'm approaching the seventy and I don't have any hair left on my head. Maybe that means that I'm getting more domesticated.” Frank pointedly raised an eyebrow and gave him a look over the pan he was currently scrubbing.
Will only snorted. “You didn't have any hair left when I first met you. And you're only sixty-seven, not seventy.”
“Fair enough.”
“And don't you dare telling me I am the one domesticating you.” William sounded scandalised, but there was a smirk on his lips, and he grabbed the pan to dry it. “You are far tidier than I am, and I'm already very tidy. But for you, everything has to be neat and in place. I think it was me who was domesticated by you.”
“Well, you know this saying about old dogs and new tricks...” Frank offered with grin and began to wash the cutlery. “The youth has to adapt. The aged are to inflexible for that.”
“You and inflexible. Sure.” William's tone was utterly dry and definitely ambiguous. The slightly dirty smirk and the teasingly raised eyebrow let Frank know without a doubt that he was thinking about last night, where Frank had proven that if he was inflexible, it was not his body.
Frank cleared his throat and returned the smirk. “I see your point.”
He passed the last of the washing up on to Will and the drying towel, pulled the plug out of drain and washed his hands. He reached for the towel and tugged on it to dry his hands and simultaneously pull William closer. He liked these peaceful domestic moments, they allowed him to truly relax, to be content just standing here in the kitchen and doing the dishes, to feel at home. His and William's home. Well, until it got blown up, like its predecessors. They would just have to rebuild it, then.
William followed the pull on the towel and leaned close. He pressed his lips against the skin beneath Frank's ear and chuckled. “Maybe we just got domestic because we have each other.”
“That might be it.” Frank grinned and leaned his head to the side so Will had better access to his neck. “I certainly wasn't this domestic before I met you.”
“I show you domestic.” William growled and bit his neck just this side of too hard. Frank just chuckled.
The kitchen might see some action, after all.
*** The End
A/N: Great, now I have a headache. I hate my muse. I love her, though. I think I should go to bed. I see everything on my screen double... o_O
Bed. Definitely.
*
Fandom: R.E.D.
Pairing: Frank Moses/William Cooper
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: humour, fluff, established relationship
Word count: approx. 1.500
Series: Belonging - Part somewhere really late in the series, like 10 years in the future or so
Disclaimer: Had it been mine, the movie would have turned out to contain some juicy Frank/Cooper scenes. Since there weren't any, it's obviously not mine. Pity, though.
Comment: Let me tell you, my diploma is attempting to kill me, and this is what I do for relaxation – writing some fic! So, this is what comes out when I've been working for 18 hours straight and finally decide to take two hours off before going to bed. Any mistakes are mine and I hope it's not too awful, seen how I wasn't entirely clear in the head when I wrote this. It's just a wee snippet, nothing too big. So, like it? Let me know? Make my day with a comment? Please?
This story takes place about a decade after Frank's and William's first meeting. I advise to read the other stories of the series, I'm referring to them here.
Summary: Some developments come silently, Frank and William remark while washing the dishes.
*********
“Frank?”
“Hm?” Frank looked up from the sink where he had his hands deep in the water, sponge in one hand and a plate from their dinner in the other. William stood right next to him, his hands hidden under the dish towel, drying the other plate. He had this cute frown on his face, the one that Frank had loved ever since the first moment he'd seen it.
“When did this happen?” Will asked after a moment, frown still in place.
“When did what happen?” Frank raised an eyebrow and looked at him quizzically.
“This.” Will removed one hand from under the dish towel and made a gesture that included them, the room, the house, the world, Frank wasn't entirely sure. “When did we become so...” Will trailed off, obviously in search for the right word. “... domestic?”
Frank smirked and leaned against the counter, letting the plate sink back under water. “I don't know. Sometime in the last decade?”
Will actually snorted. “Certainly not in the first few years.”
“Well, I agree that there was some excitement in those years.” Frank admitted and only partially managed to hide his grin.
“Some excitement?” William scoffed. “Frank, our house was blown up! Twice!”
“It was the third time for me, actually.” Frank remarked and shrugged casually. “You get used to it with the time.”
“Yeah, sure.” Will pulled one side of his mouth up in this weird half-smile-half-frown thing that Frank liked to tease him about.
“You just have to learn to have copies of all the important stuff in different locations all over the world.” Frank still sounded casual, then his eyes locked on the skin of William's neck where the collar of his shirt rode low enough to show a tiny patch of black ink. Frank's smile became teasing. “Oh, and carry what you never want to lose on you body. That helps, too.”
Will knew where he was looking, knew how much Frank loved it when Will wore shirts with a low collar so that the ink right below his left collarbone was visible. Thin and thick lines, twirling around each other in a pattern only Frank and Will understood. It was a map, it had been the route for William to find him when a mission in Mexico had gone terribly wrong. The only way for Frank to communicate without blowing his cover and risking being killed had been this tattoo parlour in Cancún, and so he had the tattoo artist mark William's skin with the ink, trusting the other agent would understand.
He had. And somehow, the tattoo had become more than a map, had become a mark, a reminder, a promise. Will never had it removed, even though it stretched from his collarbone over his shoulder and down his left upper arm. Frank knew William didn't regard the huge tattoo as a blemish, a flaw on his body, but instead he liked the meaning of the lines, liked their soft yet determined pattern, liked that they had brought him to Frank when he'd been dearly needed. And Frank always felt something swell inside him, inside his heart, when he saw his mark on the soft skin, felt it under his fingertips when he caressed him. This feeling had never changed, not even in all those years that he saw the tattoo every morning.
“It certainly has some advantages to carry it on your skin.” William said and Frank needed a moment to find back into reality, back into the kitchen, into their conversation. He let his gaze leave the black lines and looked up to find Will grinning, but his eyes were smiling softly. There were lines etched into the skin around his eyes, soft laugh lines that spoke of the overall happy times they had spent together. Frank noticed the first stray grey in the otherwise full and dark hair that stood up as messy as ever. He felt his fingers itch with the urge to bury them in the strands that he knew were as soft as they looked. Maybe pull William close, tease his lips with slow nips and lazy licks, press him against the counter and forget about washing up. Touch his skin, make him moan, take him right here in the kitchen. Wouldn't be the first time, anyway. This kitchen had seen a lot of action, Frank thought and felt the dirty grin on his own lips at the memories that flooded his mind.
“Do I even want to know what you're thinking there?” William asked and gave Frank a sceptical look.
“I could show you.” Frank offered with a teasing smile.
William chuckled. “That line only works once, and you already used it nine years ago.”
“It was worth a try.” Frank replied and wondered how he could find the sight of William in an old, tattered pair of jeans and a simple black shirt, feet bare and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, so utterly beautiful. They had lived together for nearly seven years, and still this simple moment of familiarity, of domesticity, was the most perfect moment ever. He had never expected he'd have that, not in this life, not with his way of living, the risks and the strains too great for any normal person.
But then, William wasn't normal. And he led the same life, he loved it and he understood it. Understood what it meant to be in this line of occupation, what it meant to go on a mission, to get hurt, to risk his life. It had never bothered Frank, until that one time when William had got seriously hurt while on a mission in France and it had been Frank who'd been left behind to worry. He had been scared, really and totally scared, for the first time in his life. There was still a long scar on Will's left arm where it had been broken twice with the bone cutting through the skin. Every time he saw it, it reminded of how precious their time together was. Of how quickly it could be over, even now that they weren't that much in the field any more.
“So, back to the topic.” William interrupted his train of thoughts. “When did we become domestic like this?”
“I'm getting old, Will, I'm approaching the seventy and I don't have any hair left on my head. Maybe that means that I'm getting more domesticated.” Frank pointedly raised an eyebrow and gave him a look over the pan he was currently scrubbing.
Will only snorted. “You didn't have any hair left when I first met you. And you're only sixty-seven, not seventy.”
“Fair enough.”
“And don't you dare telling me I am the one domesticating you.” William sounded scandalised, but there was a smirk on his lips, and he grabbed the pan to dry it. “You are far tidier than I am, and I'm already very tidy. But for you, everything has to be neat and in place. I think it was me who was domesticated by you.”
“Well, you know this saying about old dogs and new tricks...” Frank offered with grin and began to wash the cutlery. “The youth has to adapt. The aged are to inflexible for that.”
“You and inflexible. Sure.” William's tone was utterly dry and definitely ambiguous. The slightly dirty smirk and the teasingly raised eyebrow let Frank know without a doubt that he was thinking about last night, where Frank had proven that if he was inflexible, it was not his body.
Frank cleared his throat and returned the smirk. “I see your point.”
He passed the last of the washing up on to Will and the drying towel, pulled the plug out of drain and washed his hands. He reached for the towel and tugged on it to dry his hands and simultaneously pull William closer. He liked these peaceful domestic moments, they allowed him to truly relax, to be content just standing here in the kitchen and doing the dishes, to feel at home. His and William's home. Well, until it got blown up, like its predecessors. They would just have to rebuild it, then.
William followed the pull on the towel and leaned close. He pressed his lips against the skin beneath Frank's ear and chuckled. “Maybe we just got domestic because we have each other.”
“That might be it.” Frank grinned and leaned his head to the side so Will had better access to his neck. “I certainly wasn't this domestic before I met you.”
“I show you domestic.” William growled and bit his neck just this side of too hard. Frank just chuckled.
The kitchen might see some action, after all.
*** The End
A/N: Great, now I have a headache. I hate my muse. I love her, though. I think I should go to bed. I see everything on my screen double... o_O
Bed. Definitely.
*
