Work Text:
Bobby lay on his fraying leather couch, a cigarette dangled from his fingertips, and an old porno played on loop on the VHS system. The broken moans of a blonde who was bent over the kitchen counter echoed in the empty living room. The detective licked his chapped lips tasting the remnants of the whiskey-vodka concoction he had poured in his hip flask that morning. Turning his head to see what was happening on the television, Bobby groaned, there was a closeup shot of the man’s backside as he jack-hammered into the blonde who was still moaning, face pushed against the white countertop.
If he could get hard, Bobby would be rock solid, watching the man’s chiseled back ripple with the force of his thrusts. The sheer volume of whiskey currently drowning his liver didn’t allow him the chance to even jerk off.
What a fucking mess, bunny. An accented voice sneered.
Bobby turned back over, huffing. Of course this asshole could torment him in his own head. Crushing the butt of the burning cigarette into the overflowing glass ashtray on the table, Bobby heaved a sigh. Still dressed in his work clothes, he flopped around on the tiny couch in an attempt to get more comfortable to prepare for the sleep that would soon overtake his senses. But just like everything else in his shitty life, Bobby was never allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, because before he could even close his eyes, three sharp knocks against the hollow wooden front door rang throughout the small apartment.
Bobby winced, but did not move to answer the door. Instead, hoping whoever decided to darken his door would simply keep it pushing when they realized no one would come to the door. Whoever was at the door, instead chose to continue knocking. Bobby frowned. Glancing at the cuckoo clock his great aunt gifted him for his wedding, he noticed it was just past 1:00AM. That could only mean one thing. Cursing his own luck, Bobby mulled over his options: ignore the older man and go to sleep or answer the door like a normal person.
“Bobby, open the fucking door I know you’re in there,” the same accented voice demanded followed by a series of knocks and a dull thud.
Nigel fucking Ibanescu. The love of his fucking life, even though you couldn’t bribe the detective to admit this. Nigel, his beloved boyfriend, the same man who drove Bobby up a wall everyday without fail.
With a resounding sigh, Bobby heaved himself up off the couch. He reached for the TV remote on its perch on the wooden coffee table. His fingers slid over the purple velvet box that held a glittering diamond encrusted platinum ring as he grabbed the remote to turn off the porno before he stumbled over to the front door. Disengaging the deadbolt, Bobby took a deep breath in an attempt to sober up a bit before he had to look the other man in the eye.
The door opened to reveal Nigel, swathed in the yellow hallway light where he leaned against the door frame, scratching his lip with his thumbnail. His face lit up, eyes scrunching as he gave Bobby a lazy smile.
“Bunny, you look gorgeous as ever,” Nigel looked Bobby over. Choosing to pointedly ignore fact that his boyfriend looked as though he wanted to strangle the older man. Bobby rolled his eyes, noticing that the other man was wearing a black suit which meant he had just taken care of some business. The yellow light made Nigel look as though he stepped down from the heavens and a small part of the detective wanted to reach up on his tippy toes and kiss the older man but he couldn’t forgive him just like that. Not after what he did this time.
“What do you want, Nigel?” Bobby asked, rubbing his eye. Nigel pushed himself off the door frame and took a step toward his boyfriend.
“I miss you, Bunny,” Nigel spoke softly, reaching out to pull the other man into his arms. Bobby stepped back, turning away to instead walk back into his apartment. Nigel frowned but did not let the hurt show on his face.
Bobby made a beeline for the kitchen, not stopping to check if the other man was following him. Nigel closed the front door behind him and watched the shorter man putter around the tiny kitchen, humming appreciatively at Bobby's ass and thighs where he was bent over in the fridge looking for the orange juice he usually kept tucked away. Not that he was a particular fan of orange juice but his kitchen was not exactly stocked in the last few months and the only alcohol he had was a bottle of cheap champagne so he would have to make do with pouring himself a mimosa. The prospect of having to talk to Nigel about his feelings without a glass in his hand made him sweat. Digging around on the top shelf where he kept his relatively nice glasses, Bobby groaned as he struggled to grab the second glass. His t-shirt rode up his back and he turned around to meet Nigel’s eye. The older man, to his part, looked at his boyfriend but did not say anything.
“Please?” Bobby said, voice barely a whisper, before turning back around. Nigel grinned, socked-feet shuffling on the kitchen tile as he stood right behind Bobby, with a hand gently placed on the dimples of his back, Nigel deftly grabbed the second champagne flute from its spot on the top shelf and placed it on the countertop in front of his boyfriend.
“Anything for you, gorgeous,” Nigel whispered in Bobby’s left ear.
As he moved to step away, Nigel let his hand wander trailing the tips of his fingers over the swell of Bobby’s ass. Bobby couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body. Shaking his head, Bobby poured himself a nearly full glass of champagne with a drop of orange juice, took a large gulp, and went about pouring Nigel’s drink.
Wordlessly handing the drink to the other man, Bobby turned to lean against the countertop, staring Nigel down. The other man let out a silent chuckle as he took a sip of his mimosa.
“So tell me Nigel, what are you doing here?” Bobby said, meeting Nigel’s eyes in hopes of actually having a conversation that didn’t end in them tearing each other’s clothes off, even if he was still mad.
Nigel sighed and pushed his hair back.
“I know you’re mad at me, Bunny but I love you, till death do us part and all. I made a mistake but I miss you, fuck, gorgeous,” Nigel spoke, his accent thickening on the last couple words. Bobby let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and chugged the rest of his drink before responding.
“No, you don’t get to fucking walk in here and tell me you love me after you fucking got down on one knee to propose. Fuck you! You know why I can’t do this again Ni,” Bobby exclaimed, slamming his glass on the counter and opting to take a drink straight from the bottle.
“Bunny, I know fuck, I’m sorry,” Nigel replied, trying to soothe his boyfriend but not knowing how to do just that. He recalls the conversation they had early on in their relationship where Bobby insisted he did not want to ever get married again no matter what but only half regretted actually proposing.
“A ring? A fucking ring? You really thought I’d say ‘I do’ after the first time? You fucking lovesick fucker, I’m not doing this a-fucking-gain,” Bobby yelled in between swigs of cheap champagne.
“Bobby, you don’t have to. I just want you to be mine. No fucking vows, no fucking ceremony, just me and you, bunny,” Nigel whispered, stepping closer to the younger man. Bobby froze, feeling the anger melt away at his boyfriend’s words. The now empty champagne bottle forgotten with a thud against the counter.
“You fucker,” Bobby exclaimed, grabbing Nigel by his collar and smashing their mouths together. Nigel groaned as his nose smacked Bobby’s but he quickly recovered, settling his hands on the detective’s ass. Oh, how he missed his bunny. They kissed passionately until they had to part for air. Bobby rested his forehead against Nigel’s as he caught his breath. Nigel ran his tongue over his front teeth, chasing the lingering taste of Bobby’s mouth.
“I still can’t believe you. You don’t need to put a fucking diamond— a fucking diamond encrusted ring on my finger. It’s always gonna just be me and you, you know that right?” Bobby whispered, craning his head to look into Nigel’s darkened eyes. He pushed back the ashen locks that fell over the older man’s brow.
“Well gorgeous, maybe I just want you to be my pretty little wife,” Nigel said, kneading Bobby’s ass. The detective’s cheeks pinkened as he swatted at Nigel’s chest. A small part of Bobby preened at the thought of being Nigel’s wife, to be his other half, to share a home with the older man for better or for worse, until they were old and grey.
“Maybe someday, if you’re good, I’ll let you be my husband,” Bobby whispered, raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend. Nigel groaned, his pants tenting at the shorter man’s words.
“Fuck gorgeous, I’ll hold you to that,” Nigel said pulling the other man impossibly closer.