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booshslashhavenTitle: A Bit Rubbish, 1/3
Summary: it wasn’t burglars on the roof
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Spoilers: there is mistletoe, but it's a bit rubbish
Length: 700-ish words
Disclaimer: not my characters, I only borrowed them and will put them back all mended when I’ve finished
Notes: it took me ages to come round to the idea of this pairing actually getting it on – my head canon has them as good friends who decided a long time ago that screwing each other would be a bad idea. I hope you don’t find my plot device too corny. I’m sure Naboo rolled his eyes and muttered ‘bloody hell, we just can’t get the writers these days’, but he is a professional and went along with it…
A Bit Rubbish, 1/3
‘Dennis? What the fuck were you doin’ on the roof?’
‘It was cold up there.’ Dennis is shivering, swaying on his feet; Naboo isn’t entirely sure he knows where he is or who’s talking to him.
‘You bin out there all that time?’ Naboo kicks himself for a thoughtless git. It must be two hours at least since the fight, and once the music was turned back on and the drink was flowing again, nobody had bothered to ask where the loser had gone.
‘Yes.’ Dennis’s robes are askew, his peacock feather headdress is bent and crumpled, and there is a blackening bruise on his cheekbone.
That wife of his is a bitch. A lean, lithe, snarling wild animal in a gold minidress. She really did hit him hard. Punishing her mate for his roving eye, and then taking her revenge…
‘Come on in an’ get warm, then.’ Naboo gestures towards the kitchen.
But Dennis seems to be having trouble focusing.
‘Cold is good. Clarifies the mind. Assists in the rethinking of basic principles and the suppression of the animal passions… Where is she?’
‘Gone back to yours.’
‘Very sensible.’
Naboo takes a deep breath, and adds the rest of it, the two words he really didn’t want to say:
‘With Saboo.’
Dennis gives an approving nod. ‘Well, that’s… very gallant of him. Methuselah is not much of a carpet driver at the best of times. And tonight wasn’t exactly the best of times. I’m sure he’ll see her safely home…’
Naboo can’t help shaking his head to try to shift the image still burned into his shaman-senses, the two figures tightly entwined, gold against red, Saboo’s big hands splayed across tanned skin...
The Head Shaman’s milky blue eyes grow suddenly sharp. They look at Naboo, and through him, and right to the core of him, and there is no hiding place.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ Dennis takes a wobbly step towards Naboo and reaches out, no doubt meaning to put a kindly hand on his shoulder, as he has done many times before. He staggers and almost falls; Naboo grabs him round the waist, and hangs on.
Dennis wraps his arms around Naboo, and pulls him into an awkward hug. ‘I didn’t know… I never saw. Never looked.’
Naboo's not quite sure what's happening here; he'd expected to be being sorry for Dennis, not the other way round. But it does feel good to be held by someone. Beggars can't be choosers... ‘Nuffink you could’ve done anyway,’ he mutters into the front of Dennis’s robes.
‘Probably not.’ Dennis heaves a huge sigh. ‘I am somewhat inexpert in affairs of the heart. Otherwise I should not be here now, I should be tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa and…’
Naboo gives him a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Yeah, I know. We’re a bit rubbish at this, aren’t we?’
‘Naboo, I am grateful for your support. Yes, we are a bit rubbish at this. In fact we are a bit rubbish at many things. Sometimes I wonder whether the Board of Shamen itself is not actually a bit rubbish. Ditto the Head Shaman.’
‘Oi, Big D, don’t talk like that. We get enough of that bullshit from Tony fuckin’ Harrison.’ Naboo stares hard into his leader’s troubled face. ‘We need you, Dennis. You’re doin’ good. So what, the Board may be a bit rubbish, but that don’t mean it ain’t still got magic…’
Dennis turns his head away; looks up at the landing ceiling. Naboo looks too, and suddenly they are both very still.
Stuck to the lampshade by a curling piece of Sellotape, one single tatty sprig of mistletoe droops forlornly among the abandoned party streamers and tinsel, its leaves wilting and its three berries dull and shrivelled.
‘Bit rubbish,’ Naboo whispers.
Dennis looks down at him, and their eyes meet.
Naboo has no idea whether he is prompted by hope, or loneliness, or pity, or just sheer bloody-minded determination to wring some sort of fucking seasonal cheer out of this fucking rubbish Christmas; but he stands on tiptoe and reaches up to pull Dennis’s head down for a kiss, and as their mouths meet and they lose themselves in each other, he knows the magic’s still working.
Well enough to be going on with, anyway. They can worry about the rest in the morning.
Summary: it wasn’t burglars on the roof
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Spoilers: there is mistletoe, but it's a bit rubbish
Length: 700-ish words
Disclaimer: not my characters, I only borrowed them and will put them back all mended when I’ve finished
Notes: it took me ages to come round to the idea of this pairing actually getting it on – my head canon has them as good friends who decided a long time ago that screwing each other would be a bad idea. I hope you don’t find my plot device too corny. I’m sure Naboo rolled his eyes and muttered ‘bloody hell, we just can’t get the writers these days’, but he is a professional and went along with it…
A Bit Rubbish, 1/3
‘Dennis? What the fuck were you doin’ on the roof?’
‘It was cold up there.’ Dennis is shivering, swaying on his feet; Naboo isn’t entirely sure he knows where he is or who’s talking to him.
‘You bin out there all that time?’ Naboo kicks himself for a thoughtless git. It must be two hours at least since the fight, and once the music was turned back on and the drink was flowing again, nobody had bothered to ask where the loser had gone.
‘Yes.’ Dennis’s robes are askew, his peacock feather headdress is bent and crumpled, and there is a blackening bruise on his cheekbone.
That wife of his is a bitch. A lean, lithe, snarling wild animal in a gold minidress. She really did hit him hard. Punishing her mate for his roving eye, and then taking her revenge…
‘Come on in an’ get warm, then.’ Naboo gestures towards the kitchen.
But Dennis seems to be having trouble focusing.
‘Cold is good. Clarifies the mind. Assists in the rethinking of basic principles and the suppression of the animal passions… Where is she?’
‘Gone back to yours.’
‘Very sensible.’
Naboo takes a deep breath, and adds the rest of it, the two words he really didn’t want to say:
‘With Saboo.’
Dennis gives an approving nod. ‘Well, that’s… very gallant of him. Methuselah is not much of a carpet driver at the best of times. And tonight wasn’t exactly the best of times. I’m sure he’ll see her safely home…’
Naboo can’t help shaking his head to try to shift the image still burned into his shaman-senses, the two figures tightly entwined, gold against red, Saboo’s big hands splayed across tanned skin...
The Head Shaman’s milky blue eyes grow suddenly sharp. They look at Naboo, and through him, and right to the core of him, and there is no hiding place.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ Dennis takes a wobbly step towards Naboo and reaches out, no doubt meaning to put a kindly hand on his shoulder, as he has done many times before. He staggers and almost falls; Naboo grabs him round the waist, and hangs on.
Dennis wraps his arms around Naboo, and pulls him into an awkward hug. ‘I didn’t know… I never saw. Never looked.’
Naboo's not quite sure what's happening here; he'd expected to be being sorry for Dennis, not the other way round. But it does feel good to be held by someone. Beggars can't be choosers... ‘Nuffink you could’ve done anyway,’ he mutters into the front of Dennis’s robes.
‘Probably not.’ Dennis heaves a huge sigh. ‘I am somewhat inexpert in affairs of the heart. Otherwise I should not be here now, I should be tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa and…’
Naboo gives him a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Yeah, I know. We’re a bit rubbish at this, aren’t we?’
‘Naboo, I am grateful for your support. Yes, we are a bit rubbish at this. In fact we are a bit rubbish at many things. Sometimes I wonder whether the Board of Shamen itself is not actually a bit rubbish. Ditto the Head Shaman.’
‘Oi, Big D, don’t talk like that. We get enough of that bullshit from Tony fuckin’ Harrison.’ Naboo stares hard into his leader’s troubled face. ‘We need you, Dennis. You’re doin’ good. So what, the Board may be a bit rubbish, but that don’t mean it ain’t still got magic…’
Dennis turns his head away; looks up at the landing ceiling. Naboo looks too, and suddenly they are both very still.
Stuck to the lampshade by a curling piece of Sellotape, one single tatty sprig of mistletoe droops forlornly among the abandoned party streamers and tinsel, its leaves wilting and its three berries dull and shrivelled.
‘Bit rubbish,’ Naboo whispers.
Dennis looks down at him, and their eyes meet.
Naboo has no idea whether he is prompted by hope, or loneliness, or pity, or just sheer bloody-minded determination to wring some sort of fucking seasonal cheer out of this fucking rubbish Christmas; but he stands on tiptoe and reaches up to pull Dennis’s head down for a kiss, and as their mouths meet and they lose themselves in each other, he knows the magic’s still working.
Well enough to be going on with, anyway. They can worry about the rest in the morning.
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