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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
Words:
1,397
Chapters:
1/1
Kudos:
23
Hits:
1,336

Lazy Sunday

Summary:

Just a lazy, comfortable Sunday on a Thursday  afternoon.

Work Text:

Lazy Sunday
by  Sam/Sam-Tony

Though it was actually a Thursday, with the rain pouring outside  turning the otherwise quiet afternoon to gloom, and baseball droning on from the  tv in the living room while Prophet chased the leak under the kitchen sink with  a wrench two sizes too small, it felt more like a Sunday.

After a month with no breaks between three very high profile cases, Cooper had sent everyone home for a mandatory two days off; more, unless they got a  case before Monday.  Taking every advantage of that time by working on various undone and neglected things around his apartment, Prophet had the scrapes on his knuckles and  a load of laundry rumbling downstairs in the washer to prove it.  And, after the last couple of weeks living on quick  bites of takeout between leads, he had made a grocery run that morning with the vague craving for steak and potatoes with a few vegetables on the grill for dinner, making sure to stock up on beer for when Mick invariably showed  up.

He had the leak fixed, the laundry switched over to the dryer with another load in the washer, and had just sat down with a sandwich for lunch to catch the  4th inning when he heard Mick's key in the lock.

“Who's winning?”  Mick asked, shutting the door and vaulting over the back of the couch to settle on the other side, accepting the sandwich and beer Prophet had waiting.

“Braves,”  Prophet said, taking the bite Mick's arrival had  interrupted. “Though both teams defense has been for shit today.”

“Who're we playing, then?   Care ta place a wager?”

“Cubs,”  Prophet grinned, taking a drink from his beer.

“Ah, no bet.”

“Wuss.”

“No way,”  Mick protested, washing down a bite of his sandwich.   “Just practical.  The Cubs are how far down the list in the Central?   And the Braves are 8 games up in the Wild Card?”

Prophet smirked.  “Yeah, like I said, wuss.”

“Whatever, Gran'pa.  Just shut up and watch your ballgame.”

“Aw man, ca'mon!”  Prophet cried out, exasperated, as the Braves  flubbed yet another play.  Oily rag forgotten for the moment, he pointed  the slide he had been cleaning at the shortstop behind the Cub now brushing  himself off from the slide into second base.  “Catch the ball!”

Gently scrubbing the barrel of his rifle, Mick blew out the dust and debris  before teasing,  “Maybe I should have made that bet after all.”

“Man, shut up,”  Prophet sighed, setting the slide down on the towel covered with the other disassembled parts of his federal issue.  “'nother  beer?”

“Yeah, thanks, mate.”

A hand in his hair woke him sometime later, Mick automatically cataloging where he was by the ballgame on the television.  Though there was something off about the teams...

He favored Prophet with a look of mild exasperation as he accused,   “Another game?”

Prophet shrugged as Mick sat up and stretched the kinks from sleeping on the couch out of his back.  “Nats and Arizona.  Braves won by  5.”

“What time is it?”

“Little after 7, the game just started.  You stayin' for  dinner?”

“Depends.  You cooking?”

“Rain cleared out a while ago.  Thought I'd grill a couple of steaks  on the roof.”

“Hell yeah,”  Mick smiled appreciatively.  “Potatoes and veggies,  too, yeah?  Got any peppers or squash?”

“In the fridge,”  Prophet grinned.  “Let me head down to get the  last load out of the dryer and I'll set it up.”

“I'll get that,”  Mick offered, shooing the older man toward the  food.

“You sure?”

“Anything ta get you cooking, man.”

“Alright.  Dryer number 3, back in the corner.”

“Just look for the denim and flannel, yeah I got it.”

Mick just laughed at the finger Prophet threw his way, taunting,  “You should get so lucky, old man.”

“Old?  I'll show you old – !”

Mick snagged the laundry basket, running out of the apartment laughing before Prophet could catch him at the door.

Sitting in a lawn chair on the roof, starring out over the city skyline with the dying coals of the grill providing a hazy warmth against the slight chill of the wind  as the sun went down, Prophet was dozing gently to the drone of cicadas when Mick tilted his last bottle of beer Prophet's way, declaring,  “Good food, good company...best lazy afternoon ever.”

Clinking his own bottle to the toast, dinner a pleasant memory, Prophet smiled from his own chair and agreed.  “Yeah.  No bad guys, no shoot  outs...”

“No media cameras in our faces,”  Mick added.  “No  paperwork...”

“No paperwork,”  Prophet laughed, toasting again.

“Just an afternoon of baseball, housework, and relaxation.”

“So your place tomorrow?”  Prophet snickered.

“Only if you want ta help me clean,”  Mick warned, only half  teasing.  “Thought I'd hit the park t'morra.  Or maybe the Mall.   Catch a few tourists with the camera.”

“Nats're playin' the D'backs again tomorrow at Nationals Field,”   Prophet countered.  “You could catch that sunset shot at the 'park you've  been trying to get”

In the dark, Mick smiled.  “Yeah, sounds good.”

Silence reigned for long minutes where the only sounds where the sharp trill of cicadas and the wind, bringing faint snatches of conversation with the  occasional bright flair of laughter up from the street.

“Guess we should clean up...”  Prophet sighed, not wanting to  move.

Mick could relate.  This was nice.  “You get the dishes, I'll get  the grill,”  he offered.  “Coals should be out by now.”

“Hey I cooked.  You get the dishes,”  Prophet grumped, one hand  held out to pull him up.  “And don't forget the tines and tongs, this  time.  Last time I was up here looking for them in the rain.”

“Yeah yeah...”

Dishes whirring softly in the washer, Prophet found Mick hanging out in front of the bookshelf, plucking frames from the shelves before putting them back.  Prophet leaned against the door frame into the kitchen, smiling at the soft look the next picture brought.

“You took that one,”  Prophet smiled.  “Last time Jenna was  here.”

“Demanding something other than a take away,”  Mick grinned.

“So you brought her here and made me cook,”  Prophet accused without  heat.

“Well, yeah.  I mean, who else that I know of has a grill on the roof, yeah?”  Mick teased, putting the picture of his sister in oversized oven  mitts with a looming Prophet over her shoulder teaching her how to grill hamburgers back onto the shelf before shoving his hands in his pockets.   “And,  you know – she likes you.”

Prophet smiled.  “Yeah, she's a good kid.”

Mick snickered.  “Don't let her hear you say that, yeah?  Twenty  one is - “

“A kid,”  Prophet interrupted.  “Wanting to check out the old guy  dating her brother.”

“No!”  Mick protested automatically, before admitting with a  sheepish,  “Well, yeah  - “

Holding back a smile, Prophet raised an eyebrow.

“ - but she likes you.”

“I like her, too,”  Prophet admitted.  “But I like her big  brother better.

Mick snickered.  “Gave you the 'I know where ta hide your body'  speech, did she?”

“Yeah, in that she offered to hide yours if you hurt me.”

She would, too.  Easily seeing that conversation in his head, Mick let  out a laugh, one hand clutching at his heart, wounded.  “Ock!  I'm  hit!”

“If it's any consolation, she tells me you're dating up.”

“Oh hang on now!”

“Even if I am old and gray.”

Teasing aside, Mick felt moved to protest that.  Prophet was younger  than some twenty year olds Mick knew.  “Gray, yeah – but yer not that  old.”

“Young enough to keep up with you,”  Prophet agreed, eyes raking Mick from head to toe from across the room before pushing off the wall and moving to  stand close enough to feel the younger man's body heat through the light henley  he wore.  “So, forties isn't old, thirty isn't young, and we don't have to  work tomorrow.”  Prophet looked the younger man in the eye, weaving the  fingers of his right hand through Mick's left, feeling the soft scratch of the  fabric of Mick's shirt against his palm.  “Think we can do something with  that?”

“You asking - “

“Stay?”  Prophet asked quietly.

That was all it took for the lean body to relax, the sheepish look turning soft and almost predatory as Mick brought their hands up to brush Prophet's  fingers with his lips.  “Yeah.  Definitely.”

Mick grabbed their phones while Prophet locked up before turning off the lights and making their way into the bedroom, leaving clothes scattered over the  floor.   Tomorrow.  They would pick them up tomorrow.

 

End