Work Text:
It’s mildly fucked up that someone hoping to be a psychiatrist is an expert at running away from her problems. Though, Pete can talk: a so-called comedian who’s never set foot on a stage.
Tiff walks into dungeons with her pretty head held high. She gets in trouble at school for talking back to her teachers. Negotiating with her—about almost anything—only ever results in Pete drawing the short straw. Yet, when he tries to coax the formidable Mistress May to unlock her own mental dungeon door and say what’s bothering her, he finds he doesn’t know the password.
The only time Tiff seems in control of herself is when she’s dominating. It’s necessary if her clients are to respect her, and when she’s got that head on, even Pete’s intimidated. Of course, he knows the woman beneath the leather. He can say no to her. And he does, frequently.
There’s a light in Tiff’s eyes that isn’t there when she isn’t whipping men into submission. She must enjoy her job if she keeps doing it, right? (Same goes for him. There’s a certain thrill about not knowing what the night will bring.)
He doesn’t ever actually ask her.
They’re halfway to work when the heavens open. Tiff spent forever on her hair before they left—well, Rolph did while she threatened to burn him with her straighteners if he didn’t get it right—so it’s understandable why she scurries under a bus shelter.
They’re late. They don’t have time for this.
Removing his coat, Pete holds it above her head like he’s Prince Charming or something.
“What about you?” she asks, already on the sidewalk, avoiding puddles.
“I’ll manage.”
He’d do anything for Tiff. Getting caught in a downpour? Easy. Hey, at least it’s not a golden one.
There are two good things about working in a diner: the free coffee, and overhearing people’s conversations.
When the place is quiet, only a few tables occupied, Pete can eavesdrop. Sometimes there’s joke material in there. Observational comedy they call it. Hot guys discussing the literal ins and outs of gay sex is unfortunately a rarity, but it does happen.
Tiff’s more the silent type, and that’s okay. They’ve shared many a long, comfortable silence, though Pete’s the one who ends up desperate to fill the void eventually. Tiff never seems to mind. Perhaps that’s why she keeps him around.
Doug seems like a good guy. It’s not Pete’s place to judge, though if he’s honest, he never would’ve thought Doug was Tiff’s type. He looks kind of like the guy who dumped her at prom because—after finding a strip of condoms in his tux pocket—she’d told him she wouldn’t sleep with him.
Then again, what is Tiff’s type? He can’t remember the last time she had a boyfriend or even dated anyone.
If Pete could choose who she dated, his one and only requirement would be that they make her happy, and Doug fulfils that in spades.