Fic, Cuddling and Carbs, Alex/Tom, 15
Jan. 22nd, 2022 03:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Cuddling and Carbs
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 15
Characters : Alex/Tom
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Tom hates it when his boyfriend’s bruises can be mistaken for a technicolour Rorschact test but he always knows what Alex needs.
The rain splattered against the windows of the house in Chelsea and ran down the panes of glass in big fat drops, gathering dust on their journey, reminding Tom that the next time the neighbour’s window cleaner knocked on the door in a vain attempt to drum up more business, he really ought to say yes, please,
Right on cue, there was a rap on the door, followed by five knocks in quick succession, a pattern known only to him and Alex, signalling that his boyfriend was home safe, and that Tom didn’t need to grab the nearest sharp pointy thing, or look for some cash to pay a hopeful window cleaner.
As ever, he’d had no idea when to expect Alex home. Sometimes he was away for a couple of days, sometimes a couple of weeks and sometimes longer. This time it had been two months, three days, six hours and … he checked his watch … about 35 minutes, but hey, who was keeping track? Tom shook his head, smiling to himself ruefully. Who was he trying to kid? He’d been keeping track, he always did.
Having a boyfriend who saved the world on a regular basis was a tad wearing on the nerves at times, even though by nature he wasn’t much of a worrier, which was fortunate for both of them.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Alex called, using their standard tongue in cheek greeting, but the words lacked their usual cheerful irony. He sounded exhausted.
Tom was across the kitchen and into the hall in seconds, skidding to a halt and taking stock, knowing better than to just give into the urge to wrap Alex in his arms and kiss every inch of skin he could reach. There were times after a mission when Alex was strung so tightly that any slight touch could shatter his defences, and not always in a good way. Tom had learned to let Alex unwind in his own time and in his own way.
“You look like a drowned rat, Rider,” he commented. “I cleaned this hall last month and now you’re dripping all over it. Can’t MI6 spring for a taxi these days? It’s pissing down out there.”
“Budget cuts,” Alex said, clearly trying valiantly to muster a smile. “I walked.”
“Yeah, I can tell, All the way from Paris, or wherever you’ve been, by the look of it.”
“Berlin, actually.”
“So ditch the wet clothes and get in a hot shower. How does pizza and a beer sound?”
“I won’t hear a word said against you, Harris.” Alex toed off his sopping trainers and hung his dropping wet jacket. “You’re an angel in human form.”
Alex’s blond hair, longer than it had been when Tom had last seen him, was plastered to his head, turning it several shades darker – or maybe there was a hint of dye in there - and the heavy stubble on his too-thin cheeks was as close to a beard as he’d ever come. It suited him, but now probably wasn’t the time to point that out. One cheek was married by a ragged, barely healed cut and the other sported a yellowing bruise that the beard did little to disguise.
Tom clamped down on the urge to ask what the hell had happened to him, knowing that Alex rarely, if ever, divulged the details of his missions and asking would just add an unwanted layer of stress to their relationship. Tom had known what he was getting into when their teenage friendship had crossed a line into something more. There was no point in griping now about Alex keeping the details of his work to himself.
He stood back to let Alex get to the stairs, keeping a distance, but waving him on with a courteous flourish in best Downton Abbey style. Alex smiled tiredly; his normally warm brown eyes dull with exhaustion. Tom didn’t comment on the fact that he was failing to completely disguise a slight limp.
After slinging a couple of pizzas and an entire bag of potato wedges into the oven, Tom poured a cold beer into a large baby’s feeding beaker decorated with sparkly unicorns and took the stairs two at a time.
The sound of the shower – and the pile of wet clothes on the bedroom floor - told him that Alex had taken his suggestion on board and was already in the bathroom.
“Beer delivery for Mr Rider!” Tom called, careful to signal his approach.
Alex turned to face him in the steamy cubicle, giving Tom a full on view of the livid mix of new and fading bruises on his torso and legs, ranging from dark purple to sickly yellow. Someone had done a right number on him over an extended period but at least he still had all his extremities. As ever, Tom was thankful for small mercies. Not that he was implying his boyfriend’s extremities were small…
“Someone gets nine out of ten for artistic impression,” he commented as lightly as he could manage. “We could probably pass you off as an exhibit in the Tate Modern. The human Rorschact test. I reckon the one on your left thigh looks like a mallard sitting in a duck house.”
Alex looked down. “Bollocks, it’s a giant Atlas moth.”
Tom squinted at the bruise as he handed Alex the beer in the shower proof mug. “You might have a point.” He waved a hand airily at a messy splodge on Alex’s left upper arm. “What would a psychologist think that one means?”
“That I didn’t quite avoid a baseball bat in time.” Alex nabbed the beer and took a long swallow. “I’m fine. There’s nothing broken.”
“You need to work on your definition of fine, sweetie.” Tom perched on the edge of the bath, watching the water stream down Alex’s lithe body. He definitely needed fattening up a bit. A massive carb fest would be a good start. “The beard’s a good look, though.”
The first signs of a grin lightened Alex’s expression. “Jones doesn’t like it.”
“All the more reason to keep it.”
“What if it tickles when I’m blowing you?”
Tom felt the cold, hard knot in his stomach start to thaw. If Alex was joking about sex, he was reasonably sure the mission hadn’t gone south in that regard.
“I’ll give you my final verdict when we’ve road tested that aspect. Just don’t get it to the stage that the hedge sparrows move in, and definitely don’t cut it into a knobby shape or shave off bits around the sides.”
Alex looked outraged. “The whole point of having a beard is not bothering to shave.” He slid the shower door open and held out the unicorn mug. “Any chance of a refill?”
“Yeah. Let me bung your stuff in the wash and I’ll be back up in a minute.”
Tom bundled up the wet clothes, chucked them in the washing machine then checked the food. Alex was out of the shower when he got back upstairs and was starting to dry himself off. He accepted the beer with a grateful smile.
“Rub my back?” he asked, holding out the towel.
Tom smiled. The invitation to touch had been given.
He gently ran the towel over Alex’s scarred back. The burn marks were less visible now than they’d been in Alex’s teens, but other scars, old and new had been added to his collection since then. Tom knew each one, even if he didn’t know the stories behind them all. He paid careful attention to ever inch of the lightly tanned flesh in front of him, dropping to his knees to work lower. He kept his touch light, sweeping the water from the smooth swell of Alex’s gorgeous arse and down his strong thighs, feeling the tight muscles of his calves.
He planted a light kiss on Alex’s left buttock. “Done, m’lud. Want me to do your front, too?”
“That’d be nice.”
Tom stood up and found himself drawn into a damp embrace. Alex buried his head in Tom’s neck and drew in a shaky breath. “Thanks for understanding.”
Tom kissed his wet hair. “Course I understand, idiot.” He wrapped his arms around Alex and held him until the tension left his body, stroking small circles on his back with is hand, the towel now discarded on the floor.
“Don’t need a towel if I’ve got you,” Alex murmured.
“You just want to perve my manly body when I have to put my ‘jamas on.”
“Got it in one.”
Tom laughed and kissed him again. “Come on, Rider, it’s comfy clothes and carbs for you.”
He gently disentangled himself and went off to find Alex’s favourite brushed cotton pyjama trousers with cheerful ice-skating penguins together with an old, very soft teeshirt that had always been several sizes too big for him. Tom quickly stripped off his own damp clothes and pulled on his lounging around the house clothes of black sweatpants and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles teeshirt (the adult graphic novel version, naturally).
Ten minutes later, they were curled up on the sofa with pizza and wedges on a tray, watching Bake Off and arguing the relative merits of Black Forest gateau versus a classic lemon drizzle cake, with Tom coming down firmly on the side of anything containing cherries, chocolate and cream, and Alex preferring the sharp tang of lemon.
Once the plates had been consigned to the dishwasher, Tom grabbed another couple of beers and settled down again, this time with Alex’s head in his lap. He pulled down the soft fleece blanket from the back of the sofa and covered Alex’s too thin body, determined to go out the following day and buy the biggest and stickiest lemon drizzle cake he could find.
In the meantime, he contented himself with lazily carding his fingers through Alex’s unruly hair, gently teasing out any tangles with his fingers and then running them lightly over the surprisingly soft short beard that the Wicked Witch of the West disapproved of. Anything that pissed off Alex’s employers definitely counted as a good thing in Tom’s book.
Half an hour later, Alex had fallen into a deep sleep and didn’t even wake up when Tom turned on the late evening news.
The lead item was an explosion at a chemical factory, with outside broadcast crews relegated to a safe distance as clouds of black smoke belched up into the sky and orange flames tinges with an unnatural shade of blue leaped into the air. To everyone’s surprise, no one had been killed in the blast, although the owner was currently missing.
“And that concludes our report from Berlin,” the newsreader said. “We’ll bring you more on this story as it develops.”
Berlin. That explained a lot.
Tom carried on stroking his boyfriend’s hair. Alex’s liking for blowing things up was well known in the trade and it looked like he’d excelled himself this time.
And if the missing owner was anything to do with the bruises littering Alex’s body, Tom hoped he’d been in the middle of the place when it had gone up in flames.
Alex stirred slightly and murmured something unintelligible.
Tom reached for the remote and changed channels.
Alex didn’t like bringing his work home with him.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 15
Characters : Alex/Tom
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Tom hates it when his boyfriend’s bruises can be mistaken for a technicolour Rorschact test but he always knows what Alex needs.
The rain splattered against the windows of the house in Chelsea and ran down the panes of glass in big fat drops, gathering dust on their journey, reminding Tom that the next time the neighbour’s window cleaner knocked on the door in a vain attempt to drum up more business, he really ought to say yes, please,
Right on cue, there was a rap on the door, followed by five knocks in quick succession, a pattern known only to him and Alex, signalling that his boyfriend was home safe, and that Tom didn’t need to grab the nearest sharp pointy thing, or look for some cash to pay a hopeful window cleaner.
As ever, he’d had no idea when to expect Alex home. Sometimes he was away for a couple of days, sometimes a couple of weeks and sometimes longer. This time it had been two months, three days, six hours and … he checked his watch … about 35 minutes, but hey, who was keeping track? Tom shook his head, smiling to himself ruefully. Who was he trying to kid? He’d been keeping track, he always did.
Having a boyfriend who saved the world on a regular basis was a tad wearing on the nerves at times, even though by nature he wasn’t much of a worrier, which was fortunate for both of them.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Alex called, using their standard tongue in cheek greeting, but the words lacked their usual cheerful irony. He sounded exhausted.
Tom was across the kitchen and into the hall in seconds, skidding to a halt and taking stock, knowing better than to just give into the urge to wrap Alex in his arms and kiss every inch of skin he could reach. There were times after a mission when Alex was strung so tightly that any slight touch could shatter his defences, and not always in a good way. Tom had learned to let Alex unwind in his own time and in his own way.
“You look like a drowned rat, Rider,” he commented. “I cleaned this hall last month and now you’re dripping all over it. Can’t MI6 spring for a taxi these days? It’s pissing down out there.”
“Budget cuts,” Alex said, clearly trying valiantly to muster a smile. “I walked.”
“Yeah, I can tell, All the way from Paris, or wherever you’ve been, by the look of it.”
“Berlin, actually.”
“So ditch the wet clothes and get in a hot shower. How does pizza and a beer sound?”
“I won’t hear a word said against you, Harris.” Alex toed off his sopping trainers and hung his dropping wet jacket. “You’re an angel in human form.”
Alex’s blond hair, longer than it had been when Tom had last seen him, was plastered to his head, turning it several shades darker – or maybe there was a hint of dye in there - and the heavy stubble on his too-thin cheeks was as close to a beard as he’d ever come. It suited him, but now probably wasn’t the time to point that out. One cheek was married by a ragged, barely healed cut and the other sported a yellowing bruise that the beard did little to disguise.
Tom clamped down on the urge to ask what the hell had happened to him, knowing that Alex rarely, if ever, divulged the details of his missions and asking would just add an unwanted layer of stress to their relationship. Tom had known what he was getting into when their teenage friendship had crossed a line into something more. There was no point in griping now about Alex keeping the details of his work to himself.
He stood back to let Alex get to the stairs, keeping a distance, but waving him on with a courteous flourish in best Downton Abbey style. Alex smiled tiredly; his normally warm brown eyes dull with exhaustion. Tom didn’t comment on the fact that he was failing to completely disguise a slight limp.
After slinging a couple of pizzas and an entire bag of potato wedges into the oven, Tom poured a cold beer into a large baby’s feeding beaker decorated with sparkly unicorns and took the stairs two at a time.
The sound of the shower – and the pile of wet clothes on the bedroom floor - told him that Alex had taken his suggestion on board and was already in the bathroom.
“Beer delivery for Mr Rider!” Tom called, careful to signal his approach.
Alex turned to face him in the steamy cubicle, giving Tom a full on view of the livid mix of new and fading bruises on his torso and legs, ranging from dark purple to sickly yellow. Someone had done a right number on him over an extended period but at least he still had all his extremities. As ever, Tom was thankful for small mercies. Not that he was implying his boyfriend’s extremities were small…
“Someone gets nine out of ten for artistic impression,” he commented as lightly as he could manage. “We could probably pass you off as an exhibit in the Tate Modern. The human Rorschact test. I reckon the one on your left thigh looks like a mallard sitting in a duck house.”
Alex looked down. “Bollocks, it’s a giant Atlas moth.”
Tom squinted at the bruise as he handed Alex the beer in the shower proof mug. “You might have a point.” He waved a hand airily at a messy splodge on Alex’s left upper arm. “What would a psychologist think that one means?”
“That I didn’t quite avoid a baseball bat in time.” Alex nabbed the beer and took a long swallow. “I’m fine. There’s nothing broken.”
“You need to work on your definition of fine, sweetie.” Tom perched on the edge of the bath, watching the water stream down Alex’s lithe body. He definitely needed fattening up a bit. A massive carb fest would be a good start. “The beard’s a good look, though.”
The first signs of a grin lightened Alex’s expression. “Jones doesn’t like it.”
“All the more reason to keep it.”
“What if it tickles when I’m blowing you?”
Tom felt the cold, hard knot in his stomach start to thaw. If Alex was joking about sex, he was reasonably sure the mission hadn’t gone south in that regard.
“I’ll give you my final verdict when we’ve road tested that aspect. Just don’t get it to the stage that the hedge sparrows move in, and definitely don’t cut it into a knobby shape or shave off bits around the sides.”
Alex looked outraged. “The whole point of having a beard is not bothering to shave.” He slid the shower door open and held out the unicorn mug. “Any chance of a refill?”
“Yeah. Let me bung your stuff in the wash and I’ll be back up in a minute.”
Tom bundled up the wet clothes, chucked them in the washing machine then checked the food. Alex was out of the shower when he got back upstairs and was starting to dry himself off. He accepted the beer with a grateful smile.
“Rub my back?” he asked, holding out the towel.
Tom smiled. The invitation to touch had been given.
He gently ran the towel over Alex’s scarred back. The burn marks were less visible now than they’d been in Alex’s teens, but other scars, old and new had been added to his collection since then. Tom knew each one, even if he didn’t know the stories behind them all. He paid careful attention to ever inch of the lightly tanned flesh in front of him, dropping to his knees to work lower. He kept his touch light, sweeping the water from the smooth swell of Alex’s gorgeous arse and down his strong thighs, feeling the tight muscles of his calves.
He planted a light kiss on Alex’s left buttock. “Done, m’lud. Want me to do your front, too?”
“That’d be nice.”
Tom stood up and found himself drawn into a damp embrace. Alex buried his head in Tom’s neck and drew in a shaky breath. “Thanks for understanding.”
Tom kissed his wet hair. “Course I understand, idiot.” He wrapped his arms around Alex and held him until the tension left his body, stroking small circles on his back with is hand, the towel now discarded on the floor.
“Don’t need a towel if I’ve got you,” Alex murmured.
“You just want to perve my manly body when I have to put my ‘jamas on.”
“Got it in one.”
Tom laughed and kissed him again. “Come on, Rider, it’s comfy clothes and carbs for you.”
He gently disentangled himself and went off to find Alex’s favourite brushed cotton pyjama trousers with cheerful ice-skating penguins together with an old, very soft teeshirt that had always been several sizes too big for him. Tom quickly stripped off his own damp clothes and pulled on his lounging around the house clothes of black sweatpants and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles teeshirt (the adult graphic novel version, naturally).
Ten minutes later, they were curled up on the sofa with pizza and wedges on a tray, watching Bake Off and arguing the relative merits of Black Forest gateau versus a classic lemon drizzle cake, with Tom coming down firmly on the side of anything containing cherries, chocolate and cream, and Alex preferring the sharp tang of lemon.
Once the plates had been consigned to the dishwasher, Tom grabbed another couple of beers and settled down again, this time with Alex’s head in his lap. He pulled down the soft fleece blanket from the back of the sofa and covered Alex’s too thin body, determined to go out the following day and buy the biggest and stickiest lemon drizzle cake he could find.
In the meantime, he contented himself with lazily carding his fingers through Alex’s unruly hair, gently teasing out any tangles with his fingers and then running them lightly over the surprisingly soft short beard that the Wicked Witch of the West disapproved of. Anything that pissed off Alex’s employers definitely counted as a good thing in Tom’s book.
Half an hour later, Alex had fallen into a deep sleep and didn’t even wake up when Tom turned on the late evening news.
The lead item was an explosion at a chemical factory, with outside broadcast crews relegated to a safe distance as clouds of black smoke belched up into the sky and orange flames tinges with an unnatural shade of blue leaped into the air. To everyone’s surprise, no one had been killed in the blast, although the owner was currently missing.
“And that concludes our report from Berlin,” the newsreader said. “We’ll bring you more on this story as it develops.”
Berlin. That explained a lot.
Tom carried on stroking his boyfriend’s hair. Alex’s liking for blowing things up was well known in the trade and it looked like he’d excelled himself this time.
And if the missing owner was anything to do with the bruises littering Alex’s body, Tom hoped he’d been in the middle of the place when it had gone up in flames.
Alex stirred slightly and murmured something unintelligible.
Tom reached for the remote and changed channels.
Alex didn’t like bringing his work home with him.
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Date: 2022-02-06 10:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-02-06 10:17 pm (UTC)