Kink Bingo - Vanilla Kink (2)
Aug. 14th, 2011 10:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
a_qTitle: Visiting Hour
Fandom: The Mechanic
Characters: Arthur Bishop (/Sarah)
Kink: vanilla
Word count: ~620
Notes: It takes a certain mindset to be a mechanic, but in odd occasion, Arthur indulges on other mindsets.
Sarah had a burnt light bulb in her bathroom.
It was just a coincidence that he noticed it, because there was three others still functioning in the old light fixture and that was a plenty of light for taking a leak. For some reason that burnt light bulb bothered him as he kept staring at it. There was no rational reason to care about it. He didn't even know if this was Sarah's apartment, nor had he ever thought about the place in such way.
Of course he knew the apartment from the strict tactical point. He knew all the possible exits (four in total, where three were easy and one was tricky), objects within the apartment that could be weaponized (thirty-one, including kitchen appliances) and basic architectural weak-points that could be utilized either defensive or offensive manner. He had observed these things because that was how he observed world around him, but this burnt light bulb in the bathroom posed a new question.
”You have a burnt lamp in your bathroom,” he said and immediately wondered why he had said it out loud. Surely Sarah knew about it? It might, or might not, be her bathroom. In any case, she had used the room. There was a bottle of perfume that she used at the little shelf by the mirror.
“I know, the bulb is stuck in the socket,” she said back from the kitchen. She offered to cook for him time to time, but he never stayed. In ten minutes there would a BLT in front of him, so he should leave in five.
But he couldn't leave the burnt lamp alone.
It wasn't hard to fix. He knew it by simply looking at it. He had build a car, one lamp was not challenging. It was the gesture itself that troubled him. Changing the light bulbs was something that boyfriends did for their girlfriends, and he didn't want to shake the comfortable balance they had now. That was the rationale he had, but he couldn't help but wonder what would it be like. Eating the dinner she would cook (maybe she would wear an apron), fix things like light bulbs and leaky faucets when she asked him to. To have a home, and share it with someone.
He zipped up his pants, flushed the toilet and washed his hands, staring at the lamp. Some things were simple, some things were complex and some things were a utter mess.
He screwed the light bulb from the socket. It needed a bit of a jiggle and a hard twist before it came off. He placed the bulb on the little shelf next to her bottle of perfume. He went to the bedroom, took his coat and put it on before walking to the kitchen door.
The radio was on, and Sarah stood by the kitchen counter, swaying to the music. The sandwich was ready on the plate. She looked beautiful and strong. Definitely not an apron wearing kind of woman. She looked up and smiled.
“I got to go,” he said and she nodded in reply, her smile faltering only a little. None of this was new to her.
He left her a neat stack of bills on the table near the front door. Never on the nightstand, or in her pocket. In the foyer the bills were just that, bits of paper that she could take or leave or throw up in the air like confetti if she so chose.
She had never asked for it, but he need to do it. Whatever else this relationship was, it needed to be contained and neat for it to fit into his life. And he was grateful that she allowed it.
He walked out without looking back.
Fandom: The Mechanic
Characters: Arthur Bishop (/Sarah)
Kink: vanilla
Word count: ~620
Notes: It takes a certain mindset to be a mechanic, but in odd occasion, Arthur indulges on other mindsets.
Sarah had a burnt light bulb in her bathroom.
It was just a coincidence that he noticed it, because there was three others still functioning in the old light fixture and that was a plenty of light for taking a leak. For some reason that burnt light bulb bothered him as he kept staring at it. There was no rational reason to care about it. He didn't even know if this was Sarah's apartment, nor had he ever thought about the place in such way.
Of course he knew the apartment from the strict tactical point. He knew all the possible exits (four in total, where three were easy and one was tricky), objects within the apartment that could be weaponized (thirty-one, including kitchen appliances) and basic architectural weak-points that could be utilized either defensive or offensive manner. He had observed these things because that was how he observed world around him, but this burnt light bulb in the bathroom posed a new question.
”You have a burnt lamp in your bathroom,” he said and immediately wondered why he had said it out loud. Surely Sarah knew about it? It might, or might not, be her bathroom. In any case, she had used the room. There was a bottle of perfume that she used at the little shelf by the mirror.
“I know, the bulb is stuck in the socket,” she said back from the kitchen. She offered to cook for him time to time, but he never stayed. In ten minutes there would a BLT in front of him, so he should leave in five.
But he couldn't leave the burnt lamp alone.
It wasn't hard to fix. He knew it by simply looking at it. He had build a car, one lamp was not challenging. It was the gesture itself that troubled him. Changing the light bulbs was something that boyfriends did for their girlfriends, and he didn't want to shake the comfortable balance they had now. That was the rationale he had, but he couldn't help but wonder what would it be like. Eating the dinner she would cook (maybe she would wear an apron), fix things like light bulbs and leaky faucets when she asked him to. To have a home, and share it with someone.
He zipped up his pants, flushed the toilet and washed his hands, staring at the lamp. Some things were simple, some things were complex and some things were a utter mess.
He screwed the light bulb from the socket. It needed a bit of a jiggle and a hard twist before it came off. He placed the bulb on the little shelf next to her bottle of perfume. He went to the bedroom, took his coat and put it on before walking to the kitchen door.
The radio was on, and Sarah stood by the kitchen counter, swaying to the music. The sandwich was ready on the plate. She looked beautiful and strong. Definitely not an apron wearing kind of woman. She looked up and smiled.
“I got to go,” he said and she nodded in reply, her smile faltering only a little. None of this was new to her.
He left her a neat stack of bills on the table near the front door. Never on the nightstand, or in her pocket. In the foyer the bills were just that, bits of paper that she could take or leave or throw up in the air like confetti if she so chose.
She had never asked for it, but he need to do it. Whatever else this relationship was, it needed to be contained and neat for it to fit into his life. And he was grateful that she allowed it.
He walked out without looking back.