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crack_van2011-08-28 12:39 pm
storyfan.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-08-28 12:39 pm
Entry tags:
Exhaustion by Kylielee1000 (Rating: NC-17)
Fandom: DONALD STRACHEY MYSTERIES
Pairing: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan
Length: 3,400
Author on lj:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kylielee1000
Author's website: None of which I'm aware.
Why this story must be read: A tired Donald is a fun Donald, indeed. He's been working nonstop on a case and arrives home in the middle of the night, punchy with fatigue. You'd think he'd go straight to bed, right? Well, not smelling like that, he isn't, insists an exasperated Timmy. This hilarious, sexy story was written for the "exhaustion" challenge on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nick_n_nora in 2007.
"It's two in the morning." To my delight, Timmy removed his glasses, folded them, and stuck them on the sink. It meant he was going to help me in the shower. That was always fun, although I suspected that sheer exhaustion meant that I was not at my best. Still, exhausted or not, I always appreciated a nude Timothy Callahan.
"I should have known that, being a private eye and all," I mused as Timmy began unbuttoning. "You're wearing your silk pajamas. Pajamas equals night. Also, it's dark out." I hadn't been able to find my key, so I'd leaned on the doorbell. I might have fallen asleep while leaning, now that I thought about it. I wasn't sure how I'd gotten home. Presumably I had driven.
"They're not silk, they're cotton." Timmy folded—folded!—his pajama top and laid it atop the toilet seat lid, and I leered on cue. Timmy had a very nice chest.
"Why didn't you fold my clothes?" I asked plaintively, because mine were still scattered about the bathroom floor, but then I immediately got sidetracked by the thought of Timmy wearing silk pajamas. "You seem like a silk-pajama kind of guy to me," I mused, but before he could come back at me with a zinger of a line, he slid down his pajama bottoms, revealing all, and I growled, "Now that's what I'm talking about. Do you work out? Get in here."
I grabbed my scratchy blue nylon puff as Timmy folded his pajama bottoms and added them to the pile on the toilet, affording me a great view of his ass. A second later, he climbed in beside me.
"Much better," he said approvingly, leaning in for a quick kiss. "I think the water is covering up the smell." He leaned across and down for something, and I gently scrubbed his shoulder blade with my puff in a gesture of friendly solidarity. He stood up a second later, shampoo in hand, and he might have smiled at me, but I was distracted by the proximity of his chest, which was indeed very nice.
"Mmm," I said, shutting my eyes as I gently kissed the top of his very, very interesting chest, right under his collarbone. "Oh. Yes. Mmm. Ow!" This last was said in a tone of wounded surprise as Timmy grabbed my head, stuck it briefly under the wonderfully warm water, and then began raking his fingers through my hair with a rhythmic back-and-forth scratching movement. It took me a second to realize that he wasn't engaging in some rambunctious form of foreplay but was instead shampooing my hair. "I find that...strangely soothing," I gasped as Timmy worked up a lather. I had to close my eyes as the suds dripped down my face. It smelled good; Timmy was using his special manly hair-care products on me, rather than the cheap Suave I used, and I found it touching. I personally was afraid to use Timmy's hair products because they needed to be applied in some arcane order that required reading instructions, which I wasn't about to do for hair. "You're not going to shave me, are you?" I suggested hopefully. I hadn't shaved for three days, either.
"Yes, Don. In the shower. With a straight razor. I'm going to shave you all over."
Exhaustion
Pairing: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan
Length: 3,400
Author on lj:
kylielee1000Author's website: None of which I'm aware.
Why this story must be read: A tired Donald is a fun Donald, indeed. He's been working nonstop on a case and arrives home in the middle of the night, punchy with fatigue. You'd think he'd go straight to bed, right? Well, not smelling like that, he isn't, insists an exasperated Timmy. This hilarious, sexy story was written for the "exhaustion" challenge on
nick_n_nora in 2007."It's two in the morning." To my delight, Timmy removed his glasses, folded them, and stuck them on the sink. It meant he was going to help me in the shower. That was always fun, although I suspected that sheer exhaustion meant that I was not at my best. Still, exhausted or not, I always appreciated a nude Timothy Callahan.
"I should have known that, being a private eye and all," I mused as Timmy began unbuttoning. "You're wearing your silk pajamas. Pajamas equals night. Also, it's dark out." I hadn't been able to find my key, so I'd leaned on the doorbell. I might have fallen asleep while leaning, now that I thought about it. I wasn't sure how I'd gotten home. Presumably I had driven.
"They're not silk, they're cotton." Timmy folded—folded!—his pajama top and laid it atop the toilet seat lid, and I leered on cue. Timmy had a very nice chest.
"Why didn't you fold my clothes?" I asked plaintively, because mine were still scattered about the bathroom floor, but then I immediately got sidetracked by the thought of Timmy wearing silk pajamas. "You seem like a silk-pajama kind of guy to me," I mused, but before he could come back at me with a zinger of a line, he slid down his pajama bottoms, revealing all, and I growled, "Now that's what I'm talking about. Do you work out? Get in here."
I grabbed my scratchy blue nylon puff as Timmy folded his pajama bottoms and added them to the pile on the toilet, affording me a great view of his ass. A second later, he climbed in beside me.
"Much better," he said approvingly, leaning in for a quick kiss. "I think the water is covering up the smell." He leaned across and down for something, and I gently scrubbed his shoulder blade with my puff in a gesture of friendly solidarity. He stood up a second later, shampoo in hand, and he might have smiled at me, but I was distracted by the proximity of his chest, which was indeed very nice.
"Mmm," I said, shutting my eyes as I gently kissed the top of his very, very interesting chest, right under his collarbone. "Oh. Yes. Mmm. Ow!" This last was said in a tone of wounded surprise as Timmy grabbed my head, stuck it briefly under the wonderfully warm water, and then began raking his fingers through my hair with a rhythmic back-and-forth scratching movement. It took me a second to realize that he wasn't engaging in some rambunctious form of foreplay but was instead shampooing my hair. "I find that...strangely soothing," I gasped as Timmy worked up a lather. I had to close my eyes as the suds dripped down my face. It smelled good; Timmy was using his special manly hair-care products on me, rather than the cheap Suave I used, and I found it touching. I personally was afraid to use Timmy's hair products because they needed to be applied in some arcane order that required reading instructions, which I wasn't about to do for hair. "You're not going to shave me, are you?" I suggested hopefully. I hadn't shaved for three days, either.
"Yes, Don. In the shower. With a straight razor. I'm going to shave you all over."
Exhaustion