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smokingmirrorSeries: Chalk And Charcoal
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mikhael/Tybalt
Spoilers: pre BMB
Summary: Small gifts have large meaning. May 1995.
Word Count: 3613
Date First Posted: 12-04-2002
Date Revised: 22-05-2011
Beta: Tink.
Awards: -
Notes: Tybalt rummaging always makes me laugh, for some reason.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ
Tybalt's eyes blinked open slowly a few times as he awoke. Sunlight streamed through the window, creating a warm band of light across his naked chest. Tybalt scratched the heated skin absently, propping himself up on one elbow to look at his bedside clock.
Neon green numerals garishly displayed the time of 8.49 am. The redhead lay back again, heels of his hands pressed into sleepy eyes. There was still around 25 minutes left before he had to meet Mikhael.
The pair had a rare day off, and Mikhael had suggested they spend it together. He thought Tybalt might want to see a movie at the local ciniplex before having lunch at the nice little cafe that happened to serve the best gnocci outside of Italy. And after that... who knew? They'd think of something. Tybalt stretched languidly, a small smile on his face. They always did.
As a matter of fact, contemplating what sort of things they could think of to do did much in the way of stirring well-loved parts of his anatomy to life. Tybalt's hand drifted down, fingers grazing the bare skin beneath the sheet that wrapped around his waist and left leg, briefly toying with the idea of alleviating some of the building tension.
Tybalt hazarded another glance at his clock and swore, which turned into a sigh. 8.56 am. If he didn't get up and shower right now, he would be significantly late, if he wasn't already. As much as he adored pulling Mik's chain (both literally and figuratively), the brunet had seemed more paranoid than usual over the last week, anxious and jittery.
With something akin to godlike mercy, Tybalt decided to go easy on his boyfriend and at least attempt to turn up on time. Tybalt threw his legs over the side of the bed with a long-suffering sigh and stood up. A yawn and a muscle popping stretch later, the redhead walked to his chest of drawers and got a towel.
Wrapping it around his bare waist and picking up his keys from the dish beside his door, Tybalt headed for the bathroom, a significantly cool shower in mind.
***
Mikhael's lips moved with his internal chronometer as he steadily counted the seconds as they ticked away. He almost lost count more than once, and each lapse was punctuated with an absent rub of his bare left wrist and a muttered curse.
He knew even without the benefit of a timepiece that Tybalt was running a little bit late. The Russian shoved his hands into his pockets, one hand closing around a small metal key. The ridges bit into his palm, giving him something else to focus on as he counted.
Presently, he saw Tybalt making his way across the lawns, and some of that his nervous worry immediately eased. Tybalt glided across the grass fluidly. It seemed to Mik that the few people who actually crossed in or around the redhead's path instinctively moved further away to clear his way as he passed.
Mikhael smiled when he caught his lover's eyes. The carefully cultivated neutral-but-slightly-irritated expression Tybalt chose to wear whilst out 'amongst the plebs' as he put it melted away to reveal a genuine expression of pleasure.
A slight toss of the head that sent the waves of crimson hair dancing about his shoulders, coupled with shining eyes, and a wide, white smile made Mik's heart clench with the same emotion even as his fingers gripped the key tighter.
It took another 18 seconds for Tybalt to reach his position, where he immediately slid his arms around Mikhael's waist, angling his head up to be kissed.
"Been waiting long, love?" Tybalt asked, once their lips parted from a lingering kiss.
"365 seconds," Mikhael murmured, words muffled in the crook of Tybalt's neck.
The redhead snorted, doing a quick calculation. "That's only just over six minutes."
Mikhael pressed into the slender neck more, flicking his tongue out over the prominent Adam's apple. "Each second was a day. Felt like a year."
Tybalt's soft chuckle vibrated through the throat underneath Mik's nose and tongue before pulling back reluctantly to meet the brunet's eyes.
"Such a romantic...," he smiled wryly, but was obviously pleased. "Well, I haven't had my morning coffee yet, so gimme more sugar." Mikhael was only too happy to comply. Tybalt made a small noise of approval against marauding lips as large hands cupped his jaw gently, sweetening the kiss.
Eventually the dual need for air broke them apart. Mikhael blinked, almost coming out of a Tybalt-induced drug haze, and looked around owlishly. The redhead seemed to have that effect on him; to make him forget where he was or what he intended to do. Which was all well and good -- great even -- but he still wasn't fully comfortable with Tybalt's desire for public displays of affection.
Tybalt humoured Mikhael in his flushed-face scan of the surrounding area to see if anyone happened to be staring at them. Fortunately for Mikhael's peace of mind, most students seemed too engrossed in their own pursuits to care.
After a few more seconds, though, Tybalt's mercurial nature won out and he grabbed Mikhael's hand impatiently. "Come on, Donkey Boy," the irritation melting from his features at Mik's violent sputter at the embarrassing nickname, "let's get to the car, already."
Mikhael snorted as they walked. Tybalt may have referred to his car, but Mik had grown to affectionately call the 1980 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme 'The Deathtrap', and with good reason. It needed a paint job, a tire balance, an engine overhaul, a muffler, a replacement fuel gauge and one of those little green scented pine trees to get rid of the lingering odor of alcohol.
Tybalt looked after the car just enough so that it stayed functional and on the road, spending no more time or money on it as was necessary. The car wasn't a status symbol to the redhead; it was just a means to an end.
Besides, if he was in it, no one was looking at the car.
Tybalt unlocked the driver's side first and yanked it open hard (as it had a tendency to stick). He got in, leaning across the seat to unlock the passenger door for Mikhael. The brunet took a blue pullover of Tybalt's off the seat and sat down. He briefly recalled an incident when they had first started dating, and he'd found a pair of women's lace panties hooked around the gearstick. At the time, Tybalt had just smiled angelically and thrown them into the back seat. Mikhael now made a point of asking about it.
"I won't find any surprises today, will I?" Mik queried, with equal parts jest and actual concern.
A grin. "Not unless you look in the glove box," Tybalt answered smoothly, kicking the car over and tapping the dashboard to loosen the fuel gauge.
Mikhael smiled back, but his response smacked of mock-happiness. The smile was forced.
Tybalt raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
***
Tybalt let Mikhael drive back to campus as he'd had a little bit to drink over lunch. He'd offered his lover alcohol, but although Mikhael looked desperate to drink, he'd abstained, opting to be designated driver.
It gave him more opportunity to observe Mikhael's behaviour, which had seemed to bounce between expectant, nervous, distraught and downright twitchy all day. The drive home obviously wasn't taking his mind off whatever was concerning him, either. The hands that gripped the steering wheel were clenched tight.
Tybalt sat back in his seat and watched Mik, wondering what was bothering him. Nothing had gone wrong during the day, and he couldn't recall any serious disagreements in recent history. He'd made one or two overtures in an attempt to get Mikhael to open up to him -- he abhorred things being kept from him -- but to no avail. It was quite puzzling.
The trip back was in warm silence, save for the occasional comment with regards to the plot of the movie or how filling lunch was. Mikhael pulled into Tybalt's regular parking space just shy of 3pm. The afternoon sun beat down on them from the west, beginning its final descent to sink below the horizon.
After another moment's silence, Mikhael threw Tybalt's keys to him, which the redhead caught deftly.
"Now what?" he asked, nervousness back.
Tybalt took both hands in his own, sun bathing his features in its orange light.
"My place?" the longhaired man suggested, gently pulling the Russian in the appropriate direction. A smile broke through Mikhael's attitude, and he nodded.
*****
Mikhael tapped his foot absently as he sat on the small 2-seater sofa. Tybalt was now moving back and forth in the semi-confined space, muttering to himself, digging through piles of possessions and sifting through drawers. Any offer to help Tybalt look for whatever was missing was met with an annoyed hiss and a dismissing wave of the hand, and so he'd given up, content merely to watch.
Tybalt leaned over his chest of drawers, picking through the many items on top, shirt gaping open. Mikhael could hardly keep the appreciative smile from his face. Not long after arriving back at his dorm room, the redhead had peeled off his form fitting crimson t-shirt, opting for something looser and cooler. The Russian couldn't approve of the oversized navy coloured shirt with light blue pinstripes more.
It hung from Tybalt's lean frame in a way that only emphasised his stunning physique. The large cuffs rested on the backs of his hands, not at the wrists as they were supposed to. And each twist or stretching movement showed a tantalising glimpse of a smooth, muscled torso. Having the buttons only done up to mid-chest certainly helped.
The clinking of bottles and objects shook Mikhael out of his admiring reverie. Mik glanced around the room, a thoughtful look on his face. He couldn't assist because Tybalt wouldn't tell him what he was looking for, and so he was left wondering how the redhead planned to find anything in the clutter.
Casual disarray. That's how Mikhael would describe the state of Tybalt's room if he had to. Not out and out messy -- the redhead had far too much pride for that -- but neither was he very precious with the placement of clothes or personal effects.
Part of the problem seemed to be that Tybalt owned more than the small room would allow him to display neatly, unless it was in boxes lining the wall. Mik knew what that was like. His own room was painfully cramped as well.
His thoughts drifted away from Tybalt's rummaging then, to other matters. Almost automatically, his finger traced the impression of the key in his pocket through the fabric of his pants.
He had motive and means, all he lacked was opportunity.
Oh yeah, and courage. Maybe he should have gotten drunk at lunch...
"Ah-HA," Tybalt crooned triumphantly, plucking his sought after object out of a drawer. With a languid stride he walked to the sofa. Curling a leg up and under, he sat down sideways next to Mikhael, and thrust an unadorned black box into clasped hands.
Mik blinked, utter confusion evident on his face. "I... huh?" Tybalt only smirked, head casually propped up in his hand.
He stared down at the box, hoping it would fill him in on what he was supposed to do. The Russian didn't even realise how long he'd been mesmerised by the object until Tybalt's slightly annoyed voice jarred him.
"For Christ's sake, Mik, it's not a detonator," Tybalt sighed exasperatedly, settling further into the couch, as if he expected to be waiting a long time.
"Oh, right... sorry," Mikhael mumbled. Thumbs traced the hinge in the back. With a half-glance at Tybalt for permission, he opened the box.
Mikhael's fingers brushed the cool metal of a watch. The timepiece was simple and elegant. Mostly a silver hue, its only decoration was the line of ridges that went around the circumference of the large face. The face itself was a smooth, almost mirrored black, broken up only by the silver dashes denoting hours, and three plain silver hands.
Mikhael blinked, looking dumbly from the watch, to Tybalt, to the watch again. He noticed Tybalt looking purposefully into the box. It was then that he saw the little white piece of paper folded and wedged behind the watch in the box. With a slightly trembling hand, he unfolded the note and read it.
It's waterproof.
Love, Tybalt.
Only then were Mik's vocal cords shocked to life. He turned to face Tybalt's beatifically smiling face.
"I... it's... oh..." he was flustered, struggling to get his thoughts out. "Jesus, Tybalt, it's lovely," he finally settled on, just sorry that was the best he could do.
Tybalt ducked his head, a smile curving his lips. It was surprisingly satisfying to see Mikhael so enamoured with his gift. The way he stammered and blushed was quite charming.
Mikhael gingerly took the watch out of the box. He was content just to look at it and weigh it in his hands before Tybalt pried it out of his grasp.
"Left hand," he ordered. When the requisite limb was presented, he slipped the watch over Mikhael's large fingers and onto his wrist, where it fit perfectly. Tybalt snapped the clasp into place.
The Russian shook his wrist experimentally, noting the band fit comfortably and snugly. "It's a perfect fit," he remarked in an awed voice. He looked to Tybalt, hoping the redhead would fill him in. Tybalt merely chuckled smugly and dismissed the silent question, recalling the Mikhael-sized watch, recovered from his trash that was in the bottom of his sock drawer.
"You remembered what today was, didn't you?" Mikhael asked softly, eyes trained on his gift.
Tybalt didn't answer at first; instead he moved his legs onto Mikhael's lap, leaning his head against a broad shoulder.
"Didn't you?" the brunet prompted again.
Tybalt inclined his head up. "You thought I wouldn't?"
"I... I didn't know, whether... whether you wanted to. Be reminded, that is. Or make a big deal."
"You ass," Tybalt chided, a hint of indignation in his tone. "If we've been together for a year, it's worth the recognition," he paused thoughtfully, "and the mind-blowing sex."
Mikhael smiled briefly, before his face became serious again. "So, you don't mind...?"
Do you want to acknowledge you've been with me for a year?
The redhead answered by hoisting a leg over his boyfriend's lap, pressing his lips to Mikhael's in a slow, passionate kiss.
I'm here, aren't I?
It was while Tybalt's hands were playing with the bottom of his shirt, working their way under to caress the warm flesh underneath that Mikhael's thoughts finally cohered in his skull.
Motive, means, opportunity.
Oh yeah, and courage.
Mik jumped up off the sofa in his eagerness. "Ow!" Tybalt glared at the brunet acidly, one moment kissing in Mik's lap, the next kissing the ground and rubbing his posterior. Mikhael hardly noticed. He just hauled Tybalt to his feet, hands closing around the redhead's narrow waist. For an interminable moment, he stared into Tybalt's eyes, searching for... god knows what.
The longhaired man didn't blink or shy away, but just looked back, a slight frown marring his forehead. He waited for Mikhael to find whatever it was he looked for. Obviously it was found, because a small smile broke out on Mik's face, before he snagged Tybalt's hand and proceeded to half-lead, half-drag him out the door.
It was just about as much weirdness as he could take. "Where the hell are we going?"
"I want to show you something."
****
Tybalt allowed himself to be led across campus, amused by Mikhael's fervency. Mik tugged him gently but insistently towards an unknown destination. He initially assumed they were heading back to the Russian's room when he took a left, veering away from the direction of block 'G'.
After about 7 or 8 minutes, the pair reached dormitory block 'J'. Mikhael led Tybalt through the doors, turned left and ascended 3 flights of stairs to the third floor. They walked through the hall until Mikhael stopped in front of room 315.
With a small, hesitant smile, Mik dropped Tybalt's hand, pulling a key from his pocket to unlock the door.
Tybalt pushed open the door and stepped inside curiously. He briefly scanned the room, giving it an appreciative nod.
"Nice," he remarked.
It was. The room was a good sight better than he was used to. The double dorm room was twice the size of a single, even a fraction bigger again than the regular twins.
While it still didn't have kitchen facilities, there was a kettle plugged into the wall, resting on top of a small refrigerator. The main living area was spacious enough to fit a little couch and coffee table, as well as a television and freestanding lamp.
There were two areas slightly partitioned off from this area. Tybalt whistled, poking his head into the small bathroom. It wasn't much, but there was no comparison between showering in the privacy of one's own room and doing it in the presence of half the floor of the building.
Behind the other wall was a cosy bedroom, with a wardrobe and a double bed neatly made up in blue sheets. The last vestiges of sunlight poured through a generous window, making the room feel comfortably warm.
Tybalt sauntered around, poking various pieces of furniture, looking in drawers and opening cupboards. Mikhael watched him carefully, eyes following the redhead around the room.
"Do you like it?" the Russian asked presently.
"Yeah," Tybalt responded distractedly, flicking channels on the television. "It's big. Who's is it?"
"Well, that's what I wanted to find out..."
The redhead raised an eyebrow, turning the TV off. "Come again?"
Mikhael's hands clasped together in a nervous gesture. "It's just that... I've been thinking a lot lately... not that I'm not always thinking a lot... but that's not to say there's not times when I can't just settle back. I'm not a machine, or anything."
Silence.
"But anyway, thinking. A year is a long time. Well... relatively speaking. Not like, hugely long though. I mean, to some people, a year is a snap. And it can drag for other people. Not that I think our year's dragged! It's gone too fast in my opinion..."
"Mik."
"I just mean it's felt like an age to me, it's felt... well... damn wonderful. And I wasn't sure how it would work, but it somehow did, you know? And I didn't know how to... I guess, mark the occasion. I've never really had an occasion to commemorate like this."
"Mik."
"For so long I didn't even know if you wanted to acknowledge it, or whether I would be doing the wrong thing, or the imminently *right* thing," Self-deprecating smile. "But I know what I wanted, and what I want, and I hope some part of you wants the same thing too. "
"Mik!"
"Because if you don't, you know, it's okay. I don't want to force you into anything, I want... Jesus, I just want you happy in this, okay? And you make me happy if you're happy, and vice versa. I think, hang on..." Frown, mental calculation.
Warning. "Mik..."
"I- I just want this so badly. I know I've babbled, but-- have you noticed I tend to babble when nervous? I mean, I don't have words a lot of the time, but when they're really important they just start flowing out and I can hardly stop them an-"
"MIK!"
"Do you want to move in here with me?"
"Do I-" Tybalt stopped short of repeating the blurted out question. His eyes slipped from Mikhael's pensive and heartbreakingly hopeful face to the door open ajar.
The redhead gauged the proper way to react in accordance with his answer, and Mik's feelings. With agonising slowness, he got up from his crouch on the floor and walked towards Mikhael.
Tybalt stood so close he had to look up to meet the brunet's eyes. He reached up, fingertips ghosting Mikhael's cheeks, before arms locked around the back of Mik's neck.
Large hands automatically came to rest on his hips, subtly causing the space between their bodies to diminish.
"I," Tybalt began, voice full of quiet surety, "would love to." The look of clumsy astonishment on Mikhael's face was priceless. Tybalt then pressed his lips to the brunet's before he could be subjected to another stream of nervous babble.
The kiss was like nothing else he'd ever felt before. All of Mikhael's desperation and fear slowly bled away until all Tybalt could feel was deep, abiding passion. It left him more than a little breathless. Tybalt broke the kiss first, needing to catch his breath.
"How long have you been planning this?" he asked.
"A little over three weeks," Mikhael grinned ruefully.
"And what would you have done if I'd said no?"
"I don't know," Mik lied.
Tybalt grinned. "It's a good thing I said yes then, isn't it?"
Mikhael hoisted Tybalt up off the ground and stepped backwards a few paces. The redhead's legs kicked the door shut before wrapping themselves around Mik's waist. With large strides, they walked to the bedroom.
Mikhael deposited Tybalt on the bed, body resting between lightly muscled, jeans clad legs. Tybalt shrugged one shoulder out of his shirt, hair splaying out on the blue pillowcases. He locked his hands around the back of Mik's neck again, pulling the handsome face down much closer to his own.
"Happy Anniversary, Precious," he breathed.
"Happy Aannmmmgggppfffmm-".
~finis
