|Take Off Your Muddy Boots!
Author: Luuk PM
Charles Cross is at it again, causing trouble in Peter's life. It seems this demon hunter just can't keep himself in his pants. M/M Rated M for languageRated: Fiction M - English - Humor/Romance - Words: 1,048 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 9 - Follows: 1 - Published: 04-01-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2654433
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Words from the Author: Heh, told you I'd write another senseless dribble of these two. not all will be in Peter's point of view...I might do one in Charlie's or just third person. Baw, it all depends on what my viewers want I guess. I am your fanservice friend. Ha!
Take Off Your Muddy Boots!
"Charlie, please, kindly remove your boots from the coffee table." I speak these words every day, as if it is a routine. I can hear it in my head repeating like a broken record, but does it ever sink into his head? No. Otherwise, I wouldn't be scrubbing the dirt off of the woodwork right now.
"Would it kill you to be civilized just once?" I snap at him, giving the scruffy blonde a hard glare. "I mean, really. Is it so hard to take off your shoes before you walk into my flat?"
"Last time I checked," Charlie says casually, picking something out from under his fingernails. I cringe. "It's our flat, considering I live here now, as well." He smiles ever-so-smugly, and I can't help but get even more agitated.
"Oh, really? When's the last time you paid rent, Charles Cross?" I spit his name out like a curse. He looks surprised, as if he had never heard me say his full name before. He should know by now that I am angry with him.
"Oi, sorry, mate. If it'll make you feel any better, I'll pay the bloody rent right now. I just thought that me saving your arse would have been enough." Charlie raises his hands up in surrender, as if mocking me. I keep my glare. I watch him sigh.
"Fine, fine," Charlie mutters, setting himself on the sofa and pulling off his boots. "Happy now?"
I'm still glaring, but I can't find the anger I had been smoldering in moments before. I point my finger towards the door with a quick movement. "Put them on the mat outside."
He's smiling at me now, as if knowing I was only pretending to still be angry. "All right," he says, taking the boots with him as he heads to the door.
Well, at least he still seems to want to help me out. I thought after his little "spring cleaning" episode, he'd go back to being a complete slob. He's trying to change, I suppose. It's hard to tell if he's planning something or not. I had learned my lesson the first time when he used "cleaning my flat" to take me off guard.
Well, he isn't going to trick me this time!
I close my eyes and scrub harder, trying to forget what happened the other day.
I feel Charlie's breath against my neck, and I shudder. His large hands enclose around my small, frantically-moving fingers, stopping my excessive scrubbing. "What's on your mind, love?" he purrs, standing over me, obviously blocking any chance for me to escape.
"Get off, Charlie," I hiss, although I know my tone isn't convincing. I can tell by the way he chuckles and nips the top of my ear teasingly.
I hate when he does this; when he takes over and makes me unable to fight back, weakening my ability to say no. His entire being is my weakness, sucking away all the strength I have to resist him.
He lifts my hands off of the table, forcing me to drop the rag I was using to clean up his mess.
"Seriously, let go of me," I say through clenched teeth, trying to wiggle free from his hold. "I'm not in the mood for your bloody games!"
"Oh, really?" he teases, hands still holding down mine so I cannot push him away. His lips brush against the skin of my neck; I can feel his course stubbles tickling. I still try to jerk away. If I give into him, how can I live with myself?
We are grown men, for Christ's sake, but that never seems to bother him. Well, it certainly bothers me.
"You want this," he whispers in that husky tone of his, causing me to take a gasping breath as he traces his tongue up my neck, ending at my earlobe, enclosing his mouth around it . "Stop denying yourself, love."
"Shut up!" I finally manage to snap, pushing with my elbows against his chest to get away. "I don't want this at all! What do I look like to you, some kind of school girl?" I manage to break away from his hold, my hands free as I turn around to face him. My face is flushed, probably as red as a fucking cherry, but I don't care. He has no right to do this to me! No right at all!
He only looks at me with those dark, smoldering eyes that always seem to delve into the deepest, darkest parts of me. It leaves me feeling naked, like I can't hide anything from those eyes of his. I turn my head away, too shaken to keep my eyes directly looking into his.
Charlie leans closer towards me but does not touch. He knows I'm upset and doesn't want to make things more difficult, at least for himself. There is no way he gives a flying fuck about how I feel.
He sighs and cups my chin, turning my head to face his gaze again. Once more, I feel uneasy looking into those depths, and he knows this. He knows this and he uses it against me every time. I can tell Charlie's smiling, although his lips don't even twitch. I can see it in those damnable eyes of his, that twinkle of amusement. Because he knows. He knows I'm in love with him. And he knows I'll never say it.
But he doesn't care, because he knows.
And now our lips are met, and he's sucking away all the fight I have left for the day; I'm letting him sweep me away.
Maybe I'll win the battle tomorrow.
At least he took off his bloody boots.