Drabble: Hungover(I-III)
Sep. 22nd, 2007 11:00 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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discoveredinaljApologies to Slantedlight this time as technically speaking they are almost 3 seperate drabbles, tho' tis much better if you read them together.*g*
Hungover
“No sense in glaring at me, mate, no one forced you to do flaming Drambuies.”
Bodie was propping his head on his hands at the kitchen table. Doyle looked so charged up and bouncy from his run that Bodie’s first thought was to hit him and crawl back to bed.
Nope, no good, can’t reach the bugger with me fist from here.
“And you, you pillock, do them with Mackintosh.” Doyle clattered the dishes in the sink with unnecessary vigour as far as Bodie was concerned. “Who is Scottish and probably weaned on the stuff.”
“Now he bloody tells me.”
******
“God, but you look horrible.”
Bodie took his head off his hand at that because he’d almost forgotten what affection sounded like from the mouth of Ray Doyle, but there it was. In the smile, the relaxed posture against the sink, and in the mug of tea now being extended out towards him. He almost dropped the mug when Ray’s hand paused on his shoulder, and a thumb brushed the skin of his neck.
“I’m off. Go slope back under the covers and contemplate a life of sobriety..
“…’til next time.” They chorused together, and even Bodie managed a smile.
******
“Doyle?”
“Yeah?”
“Um.. call you later?”.
Doyle snorted.“No chance. Seen enough of your ugly mug to last a lifetime. You just drape yourself round someone else for an evening, mate, and I’ll see you tomorrow, 7 o’clock sharp. And don’t be bloody late.” The front door banged and he was gone.
Bodie drank his tea and sat back, shaking his head as much as he dared. The day he could predict his partner was the day his toes would curl up. The warm thumbprint was still there, though, as was the hot tea. A man could do a lot worse..
******
Hungover
“No sense in glaring at me, mate, no one forced you to do flaming Drambuies.”
Bodie was propping his head on his hands at the kitchen table. Doyle looked so charged up and bouncy from his run that Bodie’s first thought was to hit him and crawl back to bed.
Nope, no good, can’t reach the bugger with me fist from here.
“And you, you pillock, do them with Mackintosh.” Doyle clattered the dishes in the sink with unnecessary vigour as far as Bodie was concerned. “Who is Scottish and probably weaned on the stuff.”
“Now he bloody tells me.”
******
“God, but you look horrible.”
Bodie took his head off his hand at that because he’d almost forgotten what affection sounded like from the mouth of Ray Doyle, but there it was. In the smile, the relaxed posture against the sink, and in the mug of tea now being extended out towards him. He almost dropped the mug when Ray’s hand paused on his shoulder, and a thumb brushed the skin of his neck.
“I’m off. Go slope back under the covers and contemplate a life of sobriety..
“…’til next time.” They chorused together, and even Bodie managed a smile.
******
“Doyle?”
“Yeah?”
“Um.. call you later?”.
Doyle snorted.“No chance. Seen enough of your ugly mug to last a lifetime. You just drape yourself round someone else for an evening, mate, and I’ll see you tomorrow, 7 o’clock sharp. And don’t be bloody late.” The front door banged and he was gone.
Bodie drank his tea and sat back, shaking his head as much as he dared. The day he could predict his partner was the day his toes would curl up. The warm thumbprint was still there, though, as was the hot tea. A man could do a lot worse..
******
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