Out of the Rain
Title: Out of the Rain
Rating: G
Summary: Miguel gets a cold. Set pre-movie.
Genre: PURE, UNASHAMED FLUFF 8D
Characters/Pairings: Tulio, Miguel, slash-if-you-squint I guess.
Words: 905
Notes: Thanks yet again to freelancetitan who beta-d this :)
They had hit Granada in the middle of one of the worst rainstorms the area had seen in twenty years, or so the locals were saying. Tulio and Miguel had ducked, soaking and shivering and anything but inconspicuous into the closest, least authority-infected building they could find. This had turned out to be a rather strong-smelling stable, but it was more comfortable than sleeping on the ground and - most importantly - it was dry.
Two nights of sleeping in the rain hadn’t managed to rust the gears in Tulio’s mind, however, and as soon as they had settled into comfortable positions in the hay the dark-haired conman had started to rattle off the plans that he’s already made. So engrossed in pointing out the likely targets for theft he had noticed in their mad dash to the stable, it took Tulio a few minutes to realize that Miguel wasn’t responding with his usual enthusiasm. In fact, he wasn’t really responding at all; the blonde man was staring vacantly at a point over Tulio’s shoulder with an uncharacteristically blank expression. Tulio snapped his fingers in front of his partner’s face. “Miguel? Are you even listening to me?”
It took a moment, but then Miguel blinked and shook his head slightly, his eyes clearing. “Sorry, what?”
Tulio sat back with an irritated sigh. “I was trying to explain the plan for tomorrow to you. But if you’d rather just toss planning out the window and get us arrested yet again, by all means, go ahead!”
Miguel’s face fell. “I was listening, really!”
“Then what was I talking about, just now?”
Miguel started to speak, stopped himself, and frowned.”Um. Crime?”
Tulio reached over and smacked his partner’s head - only slightly more forcefully than he perhaps needed to. “Brilliant deduction. Now, as I was saying, we’ll start with -”
Tulio was interrupted by a loud, hoarse noise that he might have thought was the horse in the stall next to them if Miguel hadn’t had a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse.
Tulio started to continue, but Miguel suddenly doubled over, coughing. Concern momentarily overwhelming his natural irritation at being cut off, Tulio scrambled over and put an arm around Miguel’s shoulders. “Hey, are you okay?”
Miguel nodded. “I’m fi-” he began, but was overwhelmed by yet another fit of coughing. “I’m fine,” he repeated, as soon as he could breathe again. “You were talking. About crime.”
“When did this start?” Tulio asked instead.
Miguel looked away. “Last night,” he said quietly, though whether this was caused by reluctance to speak or his sore throat was questionable. “It was just a sniffle.”
“God, Miguel, you should have mentioned this!” Tulio said angrily. “If you were getting sick, then you shouldn’t have walked all night!”
“Was your idea,” Miguel muttered, triggering another short coughing fit.
Tulio realized that his arm was still around Miguel’s shoulders, and pulled away quickly. “You know, most people, they have this little voice in their heads that tells them when they’re being stupid. You don’t have one - no, wait, that’s not it; if that were the case you might do something right once in a while. No, your little voice is a moron.”
Miguel look hurt for a moment, but quickly covered it with one of his trademark wicked grins - or, at least, that seemed to be what he was trying for. “I’ll be fine, Tulio, really. Look, no more coughing, see?” The effect of this proclamation was somewhat damaged by the tiny cough that Miguel was unable to suppress.
Tulio crossed his arms. “And how do you expect me to work with someone who can’t even keep quiet for a few seconds? Your wheezing would have a hundred guards on our tail if we so much as glanced out of line, and I am not spending another week in jail! Remember Barcelona?”
Miguel looked down and twiddled his thumbs. “I said I was sorry...”
“Regardless,” Tulio said, “you are in no condition to go outside, let alone steal something. You are staying here until that cough goes away, and that’s final.”
“But -”
“Final!” Tulio interrupted. “I can steal things very well on my own, thank you very much. I don’t know why I even bring you along, sometimes. Obviously not for your intelligence.”
“I knew it; you just love me for my body,” Miguel said, something like his usual grin finding its way onto his face.
Tulio rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile. “Go to sleep, moron.”
Miguel snuggled himself down deeper into the pile of hay, his hair tangling itself in among the golden stalks, with only a quiet cough. “’Night, Tulio,” he muttered.
“Go to sleep, Miguel,” Tulio repeated. He lay back in the straw, hands folded behind his head, and stared up at the dark smudge of ceiling above them. The rain had slowed to a gentle patter that drowned out all other sound except for the horse shifting in the stall next to them and Miguel’s hoarse, even breathing.
Tulio glanced off to one side, noticed something, then stood and brushed some of the hay out of his clothing. A minute later he returned, carrying a blanket that smelled even more strongly of horse than the rest of the stable, and carefully draped it over his sleeping partner. Satisfied, he sat himself down in the remaining straw, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “’Night, Miguel.”
Rating: G
Summary: Miguel gets a cold. Set pre-movie.
Genre: PURE, UNASHAMED FLUFF 8D
Characters/Pairings: Tulio, Miguel, slash-if-you-squint I guess.
Words: 905
Notes: Thanks yet again to freelancetitan who beta-d this :)
They had hit Granada in the middle of one of the worst rainstorms the area had seen in twenty years, or so the locals were saying. Tulio and Miguel had ducked, soaking and shivering and anything but inconspicuous into the closest, least authority-infected building they could find. This had turned out to be a rather strong-smelling stable, but it was more comfortable than sleeping on the ground and - most importantly - it was dry.
Two nights of sleeping in the rain hadn’t managed to rust the gears in Tulio’s mind, however, and as soon as they had settled into comfortable positions in the hay the dark-haired conman had started to rattle off the plans that he’s already made. So engrossed in pointing out the likely targets for theft he had noticed in their mad dash to the stable, it took Tulio a few minutes to realize that Miguel wasn’t responding with his usual enthusiasm. In fact, he wasn’t really responding at all; the blonde man was staring vacantly at a point over Tulio’s shoulder with an uncharacteristically blank expression. Tulio snapped his fingers in front of his partner’s face. “Miguel? Are you even listening to me?”
It took a moment, but then Miguel blinked and shook his head slightly, his eyes clearing. “Sorry, what?”
Tulio sat back with an irritated sigh. “I was trying to explain the plan for tomorrow to you. But if you’d rather just toss planning out the window and get us arrested yet again, by all means, go ahead!”
Miguel’s face fell. “I was listening, really!”
“Then what was I talking about, just now?”
Miguel started to speak, stopped himself, and frowned.”Um. Crime?”
Tulio reached over and smacked his partner’s head - only slightly more forcefully than he perhaps needed to. “Brilliant deduction. Now, as I was saying, we’ll start with -”
Tulio was interrupted by a loud, hoarse noise that he might have thought was the horse in the stall next to them if Miguel hadn’t had a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse.
Tulio started to continue, but Miguel suddenly doubled over, coughing. Concern momentarily overwhelming his natural irritation at being cut off, Tulio scrambled over and put an arm around Miguel’s shoulders. “Hey, are you okay?”
Miguel nodded. “I’m fi-” he began, but was overwhelmed by yet another fit of coughing. “I’m fine,” he repeated, as soon as he could breathe again. “You were talking. About crime.”
“When did this start?” Tulio asked instead.
Miguel looked away. “Last night,” he said quietly, though whether this was caused by reluctance to speak or his sore throat was questionable. “It was just a sniffle.”
“God, Miguel, you should have mentioned this!” Tulio said angrily. “If you were getting sick, then you shouldn’t have walked all night!”
“Was your idea,” Miguel muttered, triggering another short coughing fit.
Tulio realized that his arm was still around Miguel’s shoulders, and pulled away quickly. “You know, most people, they have this little voice in their heads that tells them when they’re being stupid. You don’t have one - no, wait, that’s not it; if that were the case you might do something right once in a while. No, your little voice is a moron.”
Miguel look hurt for a moment, but quickly covered it with one of his trademark wicked grins - or, at least, that seemed to be what he was trying for. “I’ll be fine, Tulio, really. Look, no more coughing, see?” The effect of this proclamation was somewhat damaged by the tiny cough that Miguel was unable to suppress.
Tulio crossed his arms. “And how do you expect me to work with someone who can’t even keep quiet for a few seconds? Your wheezing would have a hundred guards on our tail if we so much as glanced out of line, and I am not spending another week in jail! Remember Barcelona?”
Miguel looked down and twiddled his thumbs. “I said I was sorry...”
“Regardless,” Tulio said, “you are in no condition to go outside, let alone steal something. You are staying here until that cough goes away, and that’s final.”
“But -”
“Final!” Tulio interrupted. “I can steal things very well on my own, thank you very much. I don’t know why I even bring you along, sometimes. Obviously not for your intelligence.”
“I knew it; you just love me for my body,” Miguel said, something like his usual grin finding its way onto his face.
Tulio rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile. “Go to sleep, moron.”
Miguel snuggled himself down deeper into the pile of hay, his hair tangling itself in among the golden stalks, with only a quiet cough. “’Night, Tulio,” he muttered.
“Go to sleep, Miguel,” Tulio repeated. He lay back in the straw, hands folded behind his head, and stared up at the dark smudge of ceiling above them. The rain had slowed to a gentle patter that drowned out all other sound except for the horse shifting in the stall next to them and Miguel’s hoarse, even breathing.
Tulio glanced off to one side, noticed something, then stood and brushed some of the hay out of his clothing. A minute later he returned, carrying a blanket that smelled even more strongly of horse than the rest of the stable, and carefully draped it over his sleeping partner. Satisfied, he sat himself down in the remaining straw, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “’Night, Miguel.”