(Big Fish. Little Fish.) Cardboard Box.
Title: (Big Fish. Little Fish.) Cardboard Box.
Fandom: Eastenders
Authors: etmuse and pinkfairy727
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We still don't own Eastenders. Or Marc Elliot. Or John Partridge. Damn it.
Spoilers: Set after July 22nd 2010.
Summary: 'It's not my flat any more. It's ours.'
Thanks to: Foxes biscuits - apparently both our muses are fond of party rings.
Authors' Note: This is what happens when you put etmuse and pinkfairy727 in the same room with Bon Jovi music, a laptop and far too much sugar.
(Big Fish. Little Fish.) Cardboard Box.
“Did you get a job lot on these shirts?” Christian asks as he pulls checked shirt after checked shirt out of the small suitcase sitting on the bed.
“I thought you liked them?” Syed responds from the sofa.
“I do like them,” Christian says, turning around with one particularly...interesting specimen dangling from a finger. “Well, at least most of them. Sy, what were you thinking?”
Syed looks up. “Okay, that one may have been part of a three pack.”
Christian drops the offending article on the bed. “Fine, but if you ever wear that outside, don’t expect me to come within ten feet of you.” If it was up to him he would burn it, but he supposes it is up to Syed. Technically.
He is about to turn to the pile of consistently plain - though in a wide range of colours - t-shirts, when he notices Syed has become distracted by whatever it is he’s just pulled from the cardboard box he has been browsing through.
“What you got there?” Christian asks, abandoning the clothes and nudging Syed over so he can sit next to him on the sofa.
Syed hands over the top photograph from the pile in his hand. It takes Christian a few moments to place the happy-looking photograph. He hasn’t seen this picture before, but the background is naggingly familiar.
“This was the party for the snap-happy Tompkinsons, wasn’t it?” He sees Syed nodding out of the corner of his eye. ‘Snap-happy’ didn’t go far enough to describe how attached the Tompkinsons had been to their cameras. Not content with photographing themselves and their guests, everyone from the bar-staff to the DJ- who’d been setting up as the Masala Queen team were leaving- had been dragged into at least one photograph.
“Mum insisted on a copy of all the photographs any of us were in,” Syed explains. “I- err- took this one.” There is a faint blush to Syed’s cheeks. Christian can’t help but smile, a quiet thrill flooding through him. At the time, Syed had been adamant that no romantic relationship did, or ever could, exist between them. The fact that, despite this, Syed had still kept this photograph...it’s a nice feeling.
“Our first photograph as a couple,” Christian says, handing the photograph back to Syed. “We should get it framed.” The look Syed shoots him suggests that, although he may later protest at the cheesiness of the gesture, he doesn’t have any real objections.
While Syed puts the photograph back into the wallet, Christian digs into the cardboard box. Nestling underneath several battered paperbacks is a half-empty bottle of brightly coloured, fruity shower gel. Christian flicks the top open, curious, and takes a sniff. The scent stirs a faint memory of the early days, before Syed switched to the same minty brand he himself favours. He looks up to see Syed frowning at him.
“I remember this,” Christian says. A thought striking him, he leans over and sniffs Syed’s neck, comparing the smell of minty-fresh Syed to the memory from over a year ago. “As much as I liked this on you.” Christian waves the bottle of gel in his hand. “I like mine better.”
“You only like it better because it makes me smell like you.”
Christian shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like you using my stuff.”
“You really are just a big sop, aren’t you?” Syed grins.
Christian realises that he can’t really deny this. “You love it really.”
Syed lifts one shoulder. “Yeah, I do.”
There is no way Christian can resist kissing Syed after that, so he does. After a long moment, Christian pulls away and turns back to the box. “So, what else is in here?” He rummages through, keen to discover more about the man he loves.
After dislodging several other paperbacks and a handful of DVDs, Christian encounters something soft and cuddly. He grins. “Who’s this then? I thought you knew I don’t share?”
Syed makes a grab for the bear in Christian’s hands, nearly forcing Christian into the box. Smirking, Christian holds it just out of his reach.
“Hey! Give!” Syed practically clambers into his lap, fingers outstretched.
“Aren’t you even going to introduce us?” Christian asks, leaning back to avoid Syed’s grasping hands.
“His name is Ted. And he’s mine.” Syed launches himself for Ted, knocking Christian into the box so hard it falls onto the floor. Flat on his back, Christian employs the only technique he can think of to keep the bear out of Syed’s hands, wrapping his free hand in Syed’s hair and bringing their lips together. He knows it has worked when Syed stops trying to wriggle away and melts into him.
Ted falls to the floor, forgotten.
***
“We’ll have to remember to thank Tam tomorrow for bringing this stuff over.” Christian presses a kiss into the top of Syed’s head as they snuggle in bed. The floor is scattered with clothes from the suitcase; Christian can’t bring himself to care about the mess right now.
“Assuming Mum hasn’t found out and put him under house arrest.” Syed’s tone is half-flippant, but it strikes a chord of worry within Christian nonetheless.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have let him do it.” He sighs. “I don’t want to get him into bother with your parents too.”
“You didn’t get me into trouble,” Syed insists, twisting to face him. “I got myself into this. I chose this.”
“Yeah, but Tamwar didn’t.” Christian can’t help but feel a little guilty, no matter what Syed says. He doesn’t want to deprive Syed of his brother, but he also doesn’t want to deprive Tamwar of his parents.
“I know,” Syed says. “But he did offer. All I can do is try not to flaunt the fact that Tam is still talking to me in front of Mum and Dad.”
“They will come around eventually,” Christian reassures, with more confidence than he really feels. He strokes his fingers comfortingly through the hair at the nape of Syed’s neck.
“I hope so,” Syed breathes, curling into Christian’s chest. Christian tightens his arm around Syed’s waist. “I really do.”
Comments and concrit are, as always, ADORED. &hearts
Fandom: Eastenders
Authors: etmuse and pinkfairy727
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We still don't own Eastenders. Or Marc Elliot. Or John Partridge. Damn it.
Spoilers: Set after July 22nd 2010.
Summary: 'It's not my flat any more. It's ours.'
Thanks to: Foxes biscuits - apparently both our muses are fond of party rings.
Authors' Note: This is what happens when you put etmuse and pinkfairy727 in the same room with Bon Jovi music, a laptop and far too much sugar.
(Big Fish. Little Fish.) Cardboard Box.
“Did you get a job lot on these shirts?” Christian asks as he pulls checked shirt after checked shirt out of the small suitcase sitting on the bed.
“I thought you liked them?” Syed responds from the sofa.
“I do like them,” Christian says, turning around with one particularly...interesting specimen dangling from a finger. “Well, at least most of them. Sy, what were you thinking?”
Syed looks up. “Okay, that one may have been part of a three pack.”
Christian drops the offending article on the bed. “Fine, but if you ever wear that outside, don’t expect me to come within ten feet of you.” If it was up to him he would burn it, but he supposes it is up to Syed. Technically.
He is about to turn to the pile of consistently plain - though in a wide range of colours - t-shirts, when he notices Syed has become distracted by whatever it is he’s just pulled from the cardboard box he has been browsing through.
“What you got there?” Christian asks, abandoning the clothes and nudging Syed over so he can sit next to him on the sofa.
Syed hands over the top photograph from the pile in his hand. It takes Christian a few moments to place the happy-looking photograph. He hasn’t seen this picture before, but the background is naggingly familiar.
“This was the party for the snap-happy Tompkinsons, wasn’t it?” He sees Syed nodding out of the corner of his eye. ‘Snap-happy’ didn’t go far enough to describe how attached the Tompkinsons had been to their cameras. Not content with photographing themselves and their guests, everyone from the bar-staff to the DJ- who’d been setting up as the Masala Queen team were leaving- had been dragged into at least one photograph.
“Mum insisted on a copy of all the photographs any of us were in,” Syed explains. “I- err- took this one.” There is a faint blush to Syed’s cheeks. Christian can’t help but smile, a quiet thrill flooding through him. At the time, Syed had been adamant that no romantic relationship did, or ever could, exist between them. The fact that, despite this, Syed had still kept this photograph...it’s a nice feeling.
“Our first photograph as a couple,” Christian says, handing the photograph back to Syed. “We should get it framed.” The look Syed shoots him suggests that, although he may later protest at the cheesiness of the gesture, he doesn’t have any real objections.
While Syed puts the photograph back into the wallet, Christian digs into the cardboard box. Nestling underneath several battered paperbacks is a half-empty bottle of brightly coloured, fruity shower gel. Christian flicks the top open, curious, and takes a sniff. The scent stirs a faint memory of the early days, before Syed switched to the same minty brand he himself favours. He looks up to see Syed frowning at him.
“I remember this,” Christian says. A thought striking him, he leans over and sniffs Syed’s neck, comparing the smell of minty-fresh Syed to the memory from over a year ago. “As much as I liked this on you.” Christian waves the bottle of gel in his hand. “I like mine better.”
“You only like it better because it makes me smell like you.”
Christian shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like you using my stuff.”
“You really are just a big sop, aren’t you?” Syed grins.
Christian realises that he can’t really deny this. “You love it really.”
Syed lifts one shoulder. “Yeah, I do.”
There is no way Christian can resist kissing Syed after that, so he does. After a long moment, Christian pulls away and turns back to the box. “So, what else is in here?” He rummages through, keen to discover more about the man he loves.
After dislodging several other paperbacks and a handful of DVDs, Christian encounters something soft and cuddly. He grins. “Who’s this then? I thought you knew I don’t share?”
Syed makes a grab for the bear in Christian’s hands, nearly forcing Christian into the box. Smirking, Christian holds it just out of his reach.
“Hey! Give!” Syed practically clambers into his lap, fingers outstretched.
“Aren’t you even going to introduce us?” Christian asks, leaning back to avoid Syed’s grasping hands.
“His name is Ted. And he’s mine.” Syed launches himself for Ted, knocking Christian into the box so hard it falls onto the floor. Flat on his back, Christian employs the only technique he can think of to keep the bear out of Syed’s hands, wrapping his free hand in Syed’s hair and bringing their lips together. He knows it has worked when Syed stops trying to wriggle away and melts into him.
Ted falls to the floor, forgotten.
***
“We’ll have to remember to thank Tam tomorrow for bringing this stuff over.” Christian presses a kiss into the top of Syed’s head as they snuggle in bed. The floor is scattered with clothes from the suitcase; Christian can’t bring himself to care about the mess right now.
“Assuming Mum hasn’t found out and put him under house arrest.” Syed’s tone is half-flippant, but it strikes a chord of worry within Christian nonetheless.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have let him do it.” He sighs. “I don’t want to get him into bother with your parents too.”
“You didn’t get me into trouble,” Syed insists, twisting to face him. “I got myself into this. I chose this.”
“Yeah, but Tamwar didn’t.” Christian can’t help but feel a little guilty, no matter what Syed says. He doesn’t want to deprive Syed of his brother, but he also doesn’t want to deprive Tamwar of his parents.
“I know,” Syed says. “But he did offer. All I can do is try not to flaunt the fact that Tam is still talking to me in front of Mum and Dad.”
“They will come around eventually,” Christian reassures, with more confidence than he really feels. He strokes his fingers comfortingly through the hair at the nape of Syed’s neck.
“I hope so,” Syed breathes, curling into Christian’s chest. Christian tightens his arm around Syed’s waist. “I really do.”
Comments and concrit are, as always, ADORED. &hearts