You Look Good In My Shirt
Title: You Look Good In My Shirt
Fandom: Eastenders
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I still don't own either Eastenders or Marc Elliot. Sigh.
Spoilers: Up to the end of July 19th 2010 episode.
Summary: 'I have nothing to wear. Literally.'
Thanks to: My Christian/Syed partner in crime, pinkfairy727, who beta'd and encouraged. Also to my sister angelzbabe1989 who pointed out the song that inspired this fic.
Author's Note: Inspired by the Keith Urban song 'You Look Good In My Shirt'. And by that shirt.
You Look Good In My Shirt
Something is tickling the back of Syed’s neck, pulling him out of the contented doze he had fallen into. As awareness returns, he realises that ‘something’ is the press of Christian’s lips as he places soft butterfly kisses against Syed’s skin. Humming happily in his throat, he wriggles back against Christian, relishing the tightening of the arm draped around his waist.
Not opening his eyes, he burrows into the pillow, hoping to drift off again; his hair is still damp from their shower, he can feel it against his ear, so they haven’t been sleeping long. He hadn’t realised how desperately he’d missed sleeping in Christian’s arms until he was back here, and he doesn’t want to leave again quite yet. Just… a few more minutes.
“Come on, Sy, we need to get up,” Christian murmurs against his ear.
Syed shakes his head, resolutely keeping his eyes closed. “Why?” he mumbles thickly. “I like it here.”
Christian’s chin tucks around his shoulder, a foot curls around his shin, and Syed feels a lazy smile curling his lips. “So do I, believe me,” Christian says softly. “But if I don’t make an appearance at The Vic this evening, Roxy will resort to barging in here, and I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea all around.”
Just the thought of it sends a shiver down Syed’s spine. “Okay,” he mumbles, twisting onto his back in Christian’s embrace and opening his eyes so he can meet Christian’s gaze. “You’ve got a point.”
Christian grins.
“But are you sure I should come?” he continues. “I don’t think Roxy likes me that much.”
Christian props himself up on an elbow beside him, brushing Syed’s hair off his forehead for him with his free hand. His palm comes to rest against Syed’s cheek, and he instinctively pushes into it. “Roxy likes you just fine,” Christian says. “The only problem she’s ever had with you is that I was making myself miserable over you.” He shakes his head a little, adoration shining clearly in his eyes; Syed’s heart does a little happy thrill to see it. “Now that you’ve made me the happiest man alive… she’s going to love you.”
“I’m not sure that actually scares me less,” Syed admits, mind full of unnerving thoughts of Roxy demanding the sort of carefree openness from him that Christian so easily exudes.
“You worry too much,” Christian responds, kissing him briefly. “It’ll be fine. And besides, if you think I’m leaving you again today, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Hey!” Syed protests half-heartedly. “It’s not like I can make any more of a mess than we already did.”
Christian narrows his eyes at him, but the gesture is infused with fondness, not anger. “Not what I meant and you know it,” he growls, and the next several minutes are lost in a haze of soft, tender kisses - kisses that have no intention of going anywhere, but are just there to be enjoyed for themselves. Before… before, there had been little time for this sort of kissing, and Syed wonders how he could have gone so long without knowing the sheer comfort and pleasure of it.
Christian sighs when he pulls away and Syed watches as he glances at the clock. “Come on, we really do have to get up,” he says. “Or we won’t get to dinner until it’s really late.”
Syed twists his head to look at the clock himself; he blinks when he realises what time it is - although it’s not that late yet.
Some hint of that thought must have shown on his face, as Christian goes on to explain the comment. “It’s Roxy. She does like to talk.”
“All right, all right,” Syed says. “I’m getting up.” Dislodging Christian from his position half on top of him, he pushes to a sitting position and looks around the room. It’s a bit of a disaster zone, really. It had been pretty bad before Christian got home, but the flour had found its way across even more of the room as they had done their best to smear each other in the stuff, clothing gradually being discarded as they did so.
Syed isn’t really sure quite where any particular item of his clothing ended up, although his T-shirt at least will probably need to go through a washing machine before he can wear it again.
He eases his way out of bed, conscious of Christian’s eyes following him as he searches for his underwear in the scatter across the floor. A hand swipes across his arse as he bends down, finally locating it, and he nudges at Christian with his hip. They won’t get out of there at all if he keeps that up.
His jeans can be salvaged, as it turns out. A bit of batting at them and the flour that had made its way onto them has either fallen off or has blended into the denim enough that it’s not noticeable. His T-shirt, as he had suspected, is a no-go.
It isn’t until he’s tossed the T-shirt into a pile of clothes to be washed that he realises the problem: that was the last clean item of clothing he had left. He’d been lucky to have even that, lucky that some spark of sentimentality or - he wanted to believe - hope, had led Christian to keep the few items of clothing he’d forgotten here over the months instead of tossing them out.
“Slight problem,” he says, turning to watch Christian pull a jumper over his head.
Christian hums interrogatively as he adjusts his collar.
Syed can’t help but throw his arms out to the side as he shrugs. “I have nothing to wear.” The statement sounds faintly ridiculous as soon as it has left his mouth, and reminds him more than a little of both his mother and Amira. He pushes away the uneasiness that line of thought threatens and grins instead. “Literally. I have no clean clothes left here. I can probably sneak back tomorrow while mum and dad are at work and get some more, but right now…” He looks down at his bare chest a little self-consciously. “It might be summer, but I still can’t go out like this.”
Christian takes a few steps over and slips his hands behind the small of Syed’s back, pulling him closer. “That’s no problem,” he says, shaking his head. “You can just borrow one of mine.”
He kisses Syed on the cheek and turns to pull another T-shirt from his wardrobe, handing it over. Syed takes it reflexively, but hesitates before unfolding it, even. “Are you sure?” He’s not sure why, but he’s nervous about this.
“I’m sure,” Christian says, and if he’s lying, his tone betrays no hint of it. He takes the bundle back and unfolds it himself, tugging it over Syed’s head in almost an exact reversal of a move he’d performed earlier that afternoon.
Syed wriggles and gets his arms through the holes, pulling the T-shirt into place.
The smile that spreads across Christian’s face dispels any doubts Syed has, and he lets Christian reel him back in against him. “I like you in my T-shirt,” Christian says quietly. “You look good, and… it feels… right.”
Syed leans into Christian and lets his T-shirt wrap around him beneath his arms, and realises that Christian speaks only the truth. All of this… it just feels right.
And maybe it’s a little to early to know if this is gonna work
All I know is, you’re sure looking good in my shirt
Comments and concrit are, as always, ADORED. &hearts
Fandom: Eastenders
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I still don't own either Eastenders or Marc Elliot. Sigh.
Spoilers: Up to the end of July 19th 2010 episode.
Summary: 'I have nothing to wear. Literally.'
Thanks to: My Christian/Syed partner in crime, pinkfairy727, who beta'd and encouraged. Also to my sister angelzbabe1989 who pointed out the song that inspired this fic.
Author's Note: Inspired by the Keith Urban song 'You Look Good In My Shirt'. And by that shirt.
You Look Good In My Shirt
Something is tickling the back of Syed’s neck, pulling him out of the contented doze he had fallen into. As awareness returns, he realises that ‘something’ is the press of Christian’s lips as he places soft butterfly kisses against Syed’s skin. Humming happily in his throat, he wriggles back against Christian, relishing the tightening of the arm draped around his waist.
Not opening his eyes, he burrows into the pillow, hoping to drift off again; his hair is still damp from their shower, he can feel it against his ear, so they haven’t been sleeping long. He hadn’t realised how desperately he’d missed sleeping in Christian’s arms until he was back here, and he doesn’t want to leave again quite yet. Just… a few more minutes.
“Come on, Sy, we need to get up,” Christian murmurs against his ear.
Syed shakes his head, resolutely keeping his eyes closed. “Why?” he mumbles thickly. “I like it here.”
Christian’s chin tucks around his shoulder, a foot curls around his shin, and Syed feels a lazy smile curling his lips. “So do I, believe me,” Christian says softly. “But if I don’t make an appearance at The Vic this evening, Roxy will resort to barging in here, and I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea all around.”
Just the thought of it sends a shiver down Syed’s spine. “Okay,” he mumbles, twisting onto his back in Christian’s embrace and opening his eyes so he can meet Christian’s gaze. “You’ve got a point.”
Christian grins.
“But are you sure I should come?” he continues. “I don’t think Roxy likes me that much.”
Christian props himself up on an elbow beside him, brushing Syed’s hair off his forehead for him with his free hand. His palm comes to rest against Syed’s cheek, and he instinctively pushes into it. “Roxy likes you just fine,” Christian says. “The only problem she’s ever had with you is that I was making myself miserable over you.” He shakes his head a little, adoration shining clearly in his eyes; Syed’s heart does a little happy thrill to see it. “Now that you’ve made me the happiest man alive… she’s going to love you.”
“I’m not sure that actually scares me less,” Syed admits, mind full of unnerving thoughts of Roxy demanding the sort of carefree openness from him that Christian so easily exudes.
“You worry too much,” Christian responds, kissing him briefly. “It’ll be fine. And besides, if you think I’m leaving you again today, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Hey!” Syed protests half-heartedly. “It’s not like I can make any more of a mess than we already did.”
Christian narrows his eyes at him, but the gesture is infused with fondness, not anger. “Not what I meant and you know it,” he growls, and the next several minutes are lost in a haze of soft, tender kisses - kisses that have no intention of going anywhere, but are just there to be enjoyed for themselves. Before… before, there had been little time for this sort of kissing, and Syed wonders how he could have gone so long without knowing the sheer comfort and pleasure of it.
Christian sighs when he pulls away and Syed watches as he glances at the clock. “Come on, we really do have to get up,” he says. “Or we won’t get to dinner until it’s really late.”
Syed twists his head to look at the clock himself; he blinks when he realises what time it is - although it’s not that late yet.
Some hint of that thought must have shown on his face, as Christian goes on to explain the comment. “It’s Roxy. She does like to talk.”
“All right, all right,” Syed says. “I’m getting up.” Dislodging Christian from his position half on top of him, he pushes to a sitting position and looks around the room. It’s a bit of a disaster zone, really. It had been pretty bad before Christian got home, but the flour had found its way across even more of the room as they had done their best to smear each other in the stuff, clothing gradually being discarded as they did so.
Syed isn’t really sure quite where any particular item of his clothing ended up, although his T-shirt at least will probably need to go through a washing machine before he can wear it again.
He eases his way out of bed, conscious of Christian’s eyes following him as he searches for his underwear in the scatter across the floor. A hand swipes across his arse as he bends down, finally locating it, and he nudges at Christian with his hip. They won’t get out of there at all if he keeps that up.
His jeans can be salvaged, as it turns out. A bit of batting at them and the flour that had made its way onto them has either fallen off or has blended into the denim enough that it’s not noticeable. His T-shirt, as he had suspected, is a no-go.
It isn’t until he’s tossed the T-shirt into a pile of clothes to be washed that he realises the problem: that was the last clean item of clothing he had left. He’d been lucky to have even that, lucky that some spark of sentimentality or - he wanted to believe - hope, had led Christian to keep the few items of clothing he’d forgotten here over the months instead of tossing them out.
“Slight problem,” he says, turning to watch Christian pull a jumper over his head.
Christian hums interrogatively as he adjusts his collar.
Syed can’t help but throw his arms out to the side as he shrugs. “I have nothing to wear.” The statement sounds faintly ridiculous as soon as it has left his mouth, and reminds him more than a little of both his mother and Amira. He pushes away the uneasiness that line of thought threatens and grins instead. “Literally. I have no clean clothes left here. I can probably sneak back tomorrow while mum and dad are at work and get some more, but right now…” He looks down at his bare chest a little self-consciously. “It might be summer, but I still can’t go out like this.”
Christian takes a few steps over and slips his hands behind the small of Syed’s back, pulling him closer. “That’s no problem,” he says, shaking his head. “You can just borrow one of mine.”
He kisses Syed on the cheek and turns to pull another T-shirt from his wardrobe, handing it over. Syed takes it reflexively, but hesitates before unfolding it, even. “Are you sure?” He’s not sure why, but he’s nervous about this.
“I’m sure,” Christian says, and if he’s lying, his tone betrays no hint of it. He takes the bundle back and unfolds it himself, tugging it over Syed’s head in almost an exact reversal of a move he’d performed earlier that afternoon.
Syed wriggles and gets his arms through the holes, pulling the T-shirt into place.
The smile that spreads across Christian’s face dispels any doubts Syed has, and he lets Christian reel him back in against him. “I like you in my T-shirt,” Christian says quietly. “You look good, and… it feels… right.”
Syed leans into Christian and lets his T-shirt wrap around him beneath his arms, and realises that Christian speaks only the truth. All of this… it just feels right.
And maybe it’s a little to early to know if this is gonna work
All I know is, you’re sure looking good in my shirt
Comments and concrit are, as always, ADORED. &hearts