NCIS Ficlet: Morning
Sep. 12th, 2009 03:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annundrielIs this a roll? Am I on a roll?
Sorry if it ends up meaning fic-spam.
Remember when I said I was craving domestic Tony/Tim? Again, going through my last writing notebook. I figure, what, am I just going to let them sit there? These little things that will never become longer?
Also, I needed a break from talking about railroad rehabilitation.
Tim/Tony. 200 words.
Morning
Tim wakes up alone, pulls on boxers and a t-shirt he finds by his bed, and shuffles to the kitchen.
Tony’s already there, peering at the coffee pot as it fills. He’s leaning against the counter, one hip cocked as his hand lazily scratches his stomach through one of Tim’s MIT shirts.
Tim pauses to look his fill then yawns and continues forward.
Tony looks up and grins. “Morning, McSleepy,” he says, voice husky with sleep. He reaches for the pot and pours Tim a cup, fingers lingering as it trades hands.
“Thanks.”
Tony pours some for himself. “How’d you sleep?”
“Someone kept me up half the night.”
“Tsk,” Tony says into his cup. “How dare they? Don’t they know that growing probies need their sleep?”
Tim sips his coffee, leans against the counter beside Tony. “They seem to think probies are there for their own amusement.”
“Well,” Tony says, transferring his coffee to his other hand so he can slip an arm around Tim’s waist. “Can you blame them?”
Tim feels Tony’s side pressed against his, the warm band of his arm across his back while they drink their first cup in the quiet kitchen. He guesses he can’t.
Sorry if it ends up meaning fic-spam.
Remember when I said I was craving domestic Tony/Tim? Again, going through my last writing notebook. I figure, what, am I just going to let them sit there? These little things that will never become longer?
Also, I needed a break from talking about railroad rehabilitation.
Tim/Tony. 200 words.
Morning
Tim wakes up alone, pulls on boxers and a t-shirt he finds by his bed, and shuffles to the kitchen.
Tony’s already there, peering at the coffee pot as it fills. He’s leaning against the counter, one hip cocked as his hand lazily scratches his stomach through one of Tim’s MIT shirts.
Tim pauses to look his fill then yawns and continues forward.
Tony looks up and grins. “Morning, McSleepy,” he says, voice husky with sleep. He reaches for the pot and pours Tim a cup, fingers lingering as it trades hands.
“Thanks.”
Tony pours some for himself. “How’d you sleep?”
“Someone kept me up half the night.”
“Tsk,” Tony says into his cup. “How dare they? Don’t they know that growing probies need their sleep?”
Tim sips his coffee, leans against the counter beside Tony. “They seem to think probies are there for their own amusement.”
“Well,” Tony says, transferring his coffee to his other hand so he can slip an arm around Tim’s waist. “Can you blame them?”
Tim feels Tony’s side pressed against his, the warm band of his arm across his back while they drink their first cup in the quiet kitchen. He guesses he can’t.
