"What would you do if I was shot?" 300 asked innocuously.
250 stopped, one foot on the staircase, and eyed his partner. It had been a long day of cat and mouse with Niels, and 300 was sprawled on his back across the sofa, lounging. His jacket was open, stylishly framing a long expanse of crisp white shirt. One foot dangled off the edge of the couch to graze the ground. He gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling, head tilted just so.
If 250 didn't know the man so well, he could've believed that this was a genuinely innocent question - mere curiosity. But there was something calculated to way 300 had draped himself across the couch. 250 furrowed his brow, unsure of what sort of game they were playing. "You really have to ask?" he droned, stepping down from the staircase and resting his folded arms on the back of the sofa.
300 shrugged, knitting his hands on top of his stomach. "I was just wondering."
250 cocked an eyebrow. "Why? You plan on getting shot sometime soon?"
"Of course not," 300 scoffed. He untwined his fingers and scratched his stomach one-handed through his shirt, rumpling the fabric. 250 followed the movement with his eyes as 300 continued, "I just had a thought and wondered what you would do." His hand stilled against his abdomen, and he shifted his gaze from the ceiling to 250, who looked up from 300's stomach with a start.
Even after all this time, the man still had the decency to blush. 300 ignored the urge to smirk and raised both eyebrows expectantly.
Still a little pink, 250 sighed and rested his head in the crook of his elbow. He let one arm dangle, trailing a finger against the sleeve of 300's open suit jacket. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being tested somehow - that his response would be measured against a broken arm and a bullet in the head from the attacker's own gun. 250 imagined 300 bleeding on the floor and felt the lines in his face become more pronounced.
"I'd murder whoever did it," he admitted brusquely. "Snap their neck and then empty a magazine into their head for good measure." He considered that answer for a moment. When he continued, his voice was sharp with adrenaline, his eyes narrow. "And I'd probably attack anyone in the vicinity who wasn't emergency personnel. And then I'd start yelling at the EMTs the minute I ran out of things to strangle."
300 watched his partner make this confession with hooded eyes. Still tense with the thought of it all, 250 let his gaze drift to 300's rumpled shirt beneath the open jacket. The Scot's tie was askew, draping across one side of his chest in an oddly enticing way. Following the direction of 250's look, 300 reached up and rubbed the end of the tie between his fingers. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards.
Clearing his throat, 250 stared pointedly at 300's face. "Where'd that come from, anyway?" he asked as casually as he could manage.
300 only smiled as he toyed with the tie. A movement caught 250's eye, and he suddenly noticed that at some point 300's free hand had slid from his stomach to his belt. 250 swallowed, his face pinking again. 300's smile widened. "I was just thinking," he replied, grinning.
250 locked determined eyes on his partner's face. He would not be distracted in whatever game they were playing. "About what?" he demanded.
300's smile became a smirk. "Just something I'd said early on in knowing you. About families and getting attached."
For a moment, the barest sense of dread flitted through 250. He remembered well enough what 300 had said about getting attached. The rational portion of 250's brain informed him that 300 was clearly much too pleased with himself at the moment to be initiating a break-up conversation, but the rest of his mind was reaching for the panic button. 250 ignored the lump in his throat to ask, "And?"
300's smirk stretched just a little further as he flicked his belt strap half-free of the buckle. "And I realized that I'd had no idea what was really important until you got shot."
250 felt his heart flip. He leaned just a little further over the back of the sofa, trying to focus on 300's face rather than on his loosening belt. His body was tense, ready for anything. "So you were... what? Checking that I still had my priorities in order?" he asked huskily.
Still smiling, 300 shifted on the couch, arching his back just enough to make 250's pulse jump. "Oh, no, I already knew that," he replied. "I just decided to work you up a little so the sex that would inevitably follow my admission would be rougher."
Well, 250 wasn't inclined to disappoint. He hauled himself over the back of the sofa and pounced.
I am officially terming the genre of this fic "Sexy WAFF."
Obviously, this 250x300 Niels (& Gang) fic is in reference to the strips A Lesson Learned, All Very Simple, and Nothing Serious. I just wanted to write something sort of cute that ended in implied sex like in Make Yourself Useful, but then 300 had to go and drape himself over the couch and suddenly the fic got a lot hotter. I am okay with that.
Let me know what you think and, as always, thanks for reading.