Don't Call Me Baby
Title: Don't Call Me Baby
Fandom: Eastenders
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's my birthday in not too long... I'm putting Marc Elliot on my list now, if anyone could oblige?
Spoilers: Set during the July 22nd 2010 episode.
Summary: Christian has opinions about nicknames.
Thanks to: My Christian/Syed partner in crime, pinkfairy727 for looking over this for me.
Author's Note: Kickstarted by a conversation I was having on twitter with stargazer60 and scribbled down before I even finished work for the day...
Don't Call Me Baby
“By the way,” Christian says as he peels potatoes for the chips. “‘Clarkey’? Where did that one come from?”
Syed shrugs, not looking up from the counter where he is carefully deboning three fillets of fish. “Just trying it on for size. Why, didn’t you like it?”
It is Christian’s turn to shrug; he picks up the last potato. “I don’t know. It just feels a bit…” He searches his mind for the right word to describe his reaction to the new nickname. “Impersonal, maybe?”
Syed turns and edges past him, rinsing his hands under the tap. “What would you prefer, then?” he asks, drying them on a tea towel. “Chris?”
Christian can’t repress his shoulder. Very few people in his life have ever tried calling him Chris, and most only ever did it once. The over-wise grin Syed is sporting tells him that Syed is more than aware of his feelings on this one.
Syed steps closer, handing him the cloth to wipe his hands as he sets down the peeler and the last of the peeled potatoes on the chopping board. “Thought not,” he smirks. Another step closer, and he can now rest his hands on Christian’s chest, pressing him back into the counter. Christian slides his arms around his hips almost without thought.
“How about…?” Syed worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks; Christian - as he always is when Syed does this - is tempted to take over. (On the few occasions when the circumstances have been right, he has.) “Baby?” Syed eventually suggests, a glint in his eye, fingertips restless against Christian’s polo shirt.
Christian tilts his head to the side. “Do I look like a ‘baby’ to you?” he asks, chuckling a little.
Syed’s eyes lower for a moment, sweeping Christian’s body. “Sweetheart, then,” he says, barely holding onto a serious tone. Christian tries to glare, but he knows the smile on his face saps any heat it might have had.
“Honeybunch?” Syed proffers, twisting away from Christian’s fingers as he attempts to poke him in the side for that one. “Shnookums?” He barely gets the final one out through his choked laughter; Christian has clearly found a ticklish spot.
One of Syed’s hands slips down from his chest and under the edge of his polo shirt, teasing at the sensitive skin at Christian’s side, and he finds himself squirming, trying to avoid Syed’s tickling fingers.
“Superman,” Syed declares breathlessly a few tickle-battle filled minutes later. “Superman.”
Christian feels the same heady elation rush through him that he did the very first time Syed called him that, and it makes his breath catch. He wraps his arms tightly around Syed’s back, holding him close.
“Superman,” he echoes softly, lowering his head to press a burning kiss to Syed’s lips. “I think I can live with that.”
The End
Comments and con-crit are, as always, adored &hearts
Fandom: Eastenders
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's my birthday in not too long... I'm putting Marc Elliot on my list now, if anyone could oblige?
Spoilers: Set during the July 22nd 2010 episode.
Summary: Christian has opinions about nicknames.
Thanks to: My Christian/Syed partner in crime, pinkfairy727 for looking over this for me.
Author's Note: Kickstarted by a conversation I was having on twitter with stargazer60 and scribbled down before I even finished work for the day...
Don't Call Me Baby
“By the way,” Christian says as he peels potatoes for the chips. “‘Clarkey’? Where did that one come from?”
Syed shrugs, not looking up from the counter where he is carefully deboning three fillets of fish. “Just trying it on for size. Why, didn’t you like it?”
It is Christian’s turn to shrug; he picks up the last potato. “I don’t know. It just feels a bit…” He searches his mind for the right word to describe his reaction to the new nickname. “Impersonal, maybe?”
Syed turns and edges past him, rinsing his hands under the tap. “What would you prefer, then?” he asks, drying them on a tea towel. “Chris?”
Christian can’t repress his shoulder. Very few people in his life have ever tried calling him Chris, and most only ever did it once. The over-wise grin Syed is sporting tells him that Syed is more than aware of his feelings on this one.
Syed steps closer, handing him the cloth to wipe his hands as he sets down the peeler and the last of the peeled potatoes on the chopping board. “Thought not,” he smirks. Another step closer, and he can now rest his hands on Christian’s chest, pressing him back into the counter. Christian slides his arms around his hips almost without thought.
“How about…?” Syed worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks; Christian - as he always is when Syed does this - is tempted to take over. (On the few occasions when the circumstances have been right, he has.) “Baby?” Syed eventually suggests, a glint in his eye, fingertips restless against Christian’s polo shirt.
Christian tilts his head to the side. “Do I look like a ‘baby’ to you?” he asks, chuckling a little.
Syed’s eyes lower for a moment, sweeping Christian’s body. “Sweetheart, then,” he says, barely holding onto a serious tone. Christian tries to glare, but he knows the smile on his face saps any heat it might have had.
“Honeybunch?” Syed proffers, twisting away from Christian’s fingers as he attempts to poke him in the side for that one. “Shnookums?” He barely gets the final one out through his choked laughter; Christian has clearly found a ticklish spot.
One of Syed’s hands slips down from his chest and under the edge of his polo shirt, teasing at the sensitive skin at Christian’s side, and he finds himself squirming, trying to avoid Syed’s tickling fingers.
“Superman,” Syed declares breathlessly a few tickle-battle filled minutes later. “Superman.”
Christian feels the same heady elation rush through him that he did the very first time Syed called him that, and it makes his breath catch. He wraps his arms tightly around Syed’s back, holding him close.
“Superman,” he echoes softly, lowering his head to press a burning kiss to Syed’s lips. “I think I can live with that.”
The End
Comments and con-crit are, as always, adored &hearts