Lewis drabbles & ficlet: Summer Peeves
Aug. 28th, 2017 11:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: Summer Peeves
Author: Mistress Kat /kat_lair
Fandom: Lewis
Pairing: Lewis/Hathaway
Rating: PG-13 barely
Word count: 2 x 100 + 628
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Drabbles + ficlet sequence of the little annoyances of summer…
Author notes: Written last minute for the Lewis Summer Challenge 2017 over at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lewis_challenge .
Melting
It’s his favourite: pistachio and coffee.
“That’s just unnatural,” Lewis says around a mouthful of his vanilla-chocolate combo.
“Just because you don’t appreciate the finer things in life, Sir…”
“Appreciate you, don’t I?” Lewis comments, mock casual and entirely unexpected.
Hathaway freezes with the ice-cream cone halfway to his mouth, surprised speechless.
“Aww, c’mon laddie! You’re letting it go to waste!” Lewis wipes a thumb over Hathaway’s wrist, collecting melting ice-cream and then sucking it off.
“I’ll try not to do that,” James says, dazed and sorely tempted to claim back what was his in the most direct way possible.
Sneezing
Interviewing a witness when sneezing uncontrollably is not ideal, but Hathaway reckons his predicament might actually be working for him, inviting sympathy and co-operation.
Lewis’ brisk “See you for a bit, Sergeant?” suggests otherwise.
Outside, he thrusts a bulging pharmacy bag into Hathaway’s hands. “God’s sake, man! You’re leaking worse than my granda’s shed! Take care of it and I’ll finish here,” he instructs, disappearing into the interview room.
Hathway sneezes three times in a rapid succession, taking that as a sign to avail himself to Lewis’ care-package of antihistamines, eye drops, nasal sprays and a giant box of tissues.
Burning
“You look like a lobster,” Lewis declares unceremoniously.
Hathaway bristles at first but then catches sight of himself in the rear view mirror and alright, yeah, that’s fair.
“Didn’t exactly have time to stop for sun-cream, did I?” It comes out slightly defensive, but to his credit Lewis ignores it.
They’ve been out all day, combing the streets and shops and pubs for a suspect, and the relentless sunshine has done a number of Hathaway’s fair complexion. Lewis, however, nearly glows, his skin a gorgeous golden brown. James tries hard not to resent him for that.
“You better come in,” Lewis says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Think I’ve got some Aloe vera somewhere.”
Hathaway knows he should decline, pretty sure that he has some after-sun at home, but the prospect of Robbie’s cool house and the promised relief to his skin that is already tight and prickling is too much to resist.
Inside, Lewis rummages in the bathroom for a minute before emerging, triumphantly waving a bottle. Hathaway reaches for it, but Lewis only points at the kitchen chairs.
“Go on then, sit down.”
James hesitates. “I’m sure I can do it myself…”
“You haven’t seen the back of your neck, lad,” Lewis says, “and probably best if you don’t.”
He pushes gently at James’ shoulder until he gives up and slumps into one of the chairs.
His arms got the worst of it, the short sleeves necessary for the temperature but doing little to protect against the sun. Lewis at least lets him see to them on his own, pouring lotion into James’ open palm.
He jumps as Robbie’s cool fingers make contact with the back of his neck, starting a gentle rubbing motion. It feels good, dangerously so, and James lets his head drop forward, giving as much access as he can and biting down on the groan of pleasure that is threatening to escape.
He’s not sure how long they stay like that – James idly smoothing lotion on his arms while Robbie’s fingers make maddeningly slow circles over his nape – but eventually Lewis clears his throat and withdraws his hands.
“This isn’t working,” he says, voice gruff.
The disappointment is a like a cold splash of water, but before Hathaway has a chance to apologise or scramble up and away, Lewis continues.
“I’m getting the lotion on your shirt,” he says. “Maybe you should just… take it off?”
“I… What?” James can feel his eyes widening in surprise, heart thumping double time as he stares at the kitchen tiles, unable to bring himself to turn around.
“If you wanted to…” Robbie sounds uncertain now. “Just that, I can’t quite reach…” He dips a finger under James’ collar illustratively. “Your skin seems kind of pink here too,” he offers in an explanation that wouldn’t survive two minutes under cross-examination.
“Is it?” James asks faintly. “I guess I better…” His fingers are still slippery with Aloe vera, making the tiny buttons difficult to grasp but as soon as he has the last one open Lewis is reaching for the shirt.
“Let me,” he says, voice even lower now as he pulls the garment off and drapes it over an empty chair almost reverently.
Hathaway holds his breath, the sound of the bottle being opened suddenly deafening in the otherwise quiet room. The feel of Robbie’s hands, though expected, still makes him shiver. The touch starts light but gets bolder with every passing stroke over his shoulders, down his spine and up again.
“God,” Robbie breathes, “look at you,” and James doesn’t think he’s talking about the sunburn, knows that the flush spreading down his own torso definitely has nothing to do with it.
“If you’d like,” he offers shakily, tilting his head back to rest against Robbie’s chest.
***
Title: Summer Peeves
Author: Mistress Kat /
kat_lair Fandom: Lewis
Pairing: Lewis/Hathaway
Rating: PG-13 barely
Word count: 2 x 100 + 628
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Drabbles + ficlet sequence of the little annoyances of summer…
Author notes: Written last minute for the Lewis Summer Challenge 2017 over at
lewis_challenge .Melting
It’s his favourite: pistachio and coffee.
“That’s just unnatural,” Lewis says around a mouthful of his vanilla-chocolate combo.
“Just because you don’t appreciate the finer things in life, Sir…”
“Appreciate you, don’t I?” Lewis comments, mock casual and entirely unexpected.
Hathaway freezes with the ice-cream cone halfway to his mouth, surprised speechless.
“Aww, c’mon laddie! You’re letting it go to waste!” Lewis wipes a thumb over Hathaway’s wrist, collecting melting ice-cream and then sucking it off.
“I’ll try not to do that,” James says, dazed and sorely tempted to claim back what was his in the most direct way possible.
Sneezing
Interviewing a witness when sneezing uncontrollably is not ideal, but Hathaway reckons his predicament might actually be working for him, inviting sympathy and co-operation.
Lewis’ brisk “See you for a bit, Sergeant?” suggests otherwise.
Outside, he thrusts a bulging pharmacy bag into Hathaway’s hands. “God’s sake, man! You’re leaking worse than my granda’s shed! Take care of it and I’ll finish here,” he instructs, disappearing into the interview room.
Hathway sneezes three times in a rapid succession, taking that as a sign to avail himself to Lewis’ care-package of antihistamines, eye drops, nasal sprays and a giant box of tissues.
Burning
“You look like a lobster,” Lewis declares unceremoniously.
Hathaway bristles at first but then catches sight of himself in the rear view mirror and alright, yeah, that’s fair.
“Didn’t exactly have time to stop for sun-cream, did I?” It comes out slightly defensive, but to his credit Lewis ignores it.
They’ve been out all day, combing the streets and shops and pubs for a suspect, and the relentless sunshine has done a number of Hathaway’s fair complexion. Lewis, however, nearly glows, his skin a gorgeous golden brown. James tries hard not to resent him for that.
“You better come in,” Lewis says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Think I’ve got some Aloe vera somewhere.”
Hathaway knows he should decline, pretty sure that he has some after-sun at home, but the prospect of Robbie’s cool house and the promised relief to his skin that is already tight and prickling is too much to resist.
Inside, Lewis rummages in the bathroom for a minute before emerging, triumphantly waving a bottle. Hathaway reaches for it, but Lewis only points at the kitchen chairs.
“Go on then, sit down.”
James hesitates. “I’m sure I can do it myself…”
“You haven’t seen the back of your neck, lad,” Lewis says, “and probably best if you don’t.”
He pushes gently at James’ shoulder until he gives up and slumps into one of the chairs.
His arms got the worst of it, the short sleeves necessary for the temperature but doing little to protect against the sun. Lewis at least lets him see to them on his own, pouring lotion into James’ open palm.
He jumps as Robbie’s cool fingers make contact with the back of his neck, starting a gentle rubbing motion. It feels good, dangerously so, and James lets his head drop forward, giving as much access as he can and biting down on the groan of pleasure that is threatening to escape.
He’s not sure how long they stay like that – James idly smoothing lotion on his arms while Robbie’s fingers make maddeningly slow circles over his nape – but eventually Lewis clears his throat and withdraws his hands.
“This isn’t working,” he says, voice gruff.
The disappointment is a like a cold splash of water, but before Hathaway has a chance to apologise or scramble up and away, Lewis continues.
“I’m getting the lotion on your shirt,” he says. “Maybe you should just… take it off?”
“I… What?” James can feel his eyes widening in surprise, heart thumping double time as he stares at the kitchen tiles, unable to bring himself to turn around.
“If you wanted to…” Robbie sounds uncertain now. “Just that, I can’t quite reach…” He dips a finger under James’ collar illustratively. “Your skin seems kind of pink here too,” he offers in an explanation that wouldn’t survive two minutes under cross-examination.
“Is it?” James asks faintly. “I guess I better…” His fingers are still slippery with Aloe vera, making the tiny buttons difficult to grasp but as soon as he has the last one open Lewis is reaching for the shirt.
“Let me,” he says, voice even lower now as he pulls the garment off and drapes it over an empty chair almost reverently.
Hathaway holds his breath, the sound of the bottle being opened suddenly deafening in the otherwise quiet room. The feel of Robbie’s hands, though expected, still makes him shiver. The touch starts light but gets bolder with every passing stroke over his shoulders, down his spine and up again.
“God,” Robbie breathes, “look at you,” and James doesn’t think he’s talking about the sunburn, knows that the flush spreading down his own torso definitely has nothing to do with it.
“If you’d like,” he offers shakily, tilting his head back to rest against Robbie’s chest.
***