On the Lookout

Donald slumps down the car seat and watches the minivan drive down the street. He hopes it will stop at the house, but luck being what it is, it keeps going, down the block, and then makes a right and disappears.

He sighs, rubs his hands together and checks his watch. Only half past midnight.

It was going to be a long night. A long, cold night.

Donald has a full thermos of hot coffee and a brown paper bag that Timmy had shoved into his hand as he hurried out the door. Upon investigation Donald finds that it contains a sandwich--if you can call cheese, tomatoes and something green that might be spinach a sandwich. He gives it a sniff. Basil. With a hint of vinegar.

"Timothy," Donald mutters, shaking his head. He could really go for a ham sandwich right now. With mustard. And maybe a couple of pickles. He rummages further into the bag, past the napkins to find something solid and weighty, wrapped in wax paper. He unwraps it and is delighted to find a little pie, round and complete, filled with sliced apples and walnuts.

"Now that's more like it," Donald says out loud. He takes a bite and watches another pair of headlights glide past. Without stopping, of course.

Donald closes his eyes for a moment, then pulls out his phone and dials home. It's late, but Timmy picks up on the second ring. "Hi, honey," Donald sings out. "Did I wake you?"

"Hmm. No, no. You know I can't sleep when you're not here." Timmy's voice sounds sleepy, like warm nights and cool silk sheets that you never want to get untangled from.

"But I'll bet you're in bed." Donald leans back and shifts in his cold, creaky car seat, trying to get comfortable.

"Yes, I am. Which is precisely where you should be too."

"I have a job to do," Donald reminds him.

"Of course you do. How goes the stakeout?"

"Boring."

"That's nice."

Donald frowns at the phone. "No it's not."

"I know, I know, you'd rather be chasing bad guys with bullets whizzing past your ears."

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it."

"No, thank you," Timmy says primly. "I prefer spending my nights in this nice big soft bed--" There's a rustling noise followed by a pointedly content sigh. "Oh, look, another pillow, all for me."

Donald is knows exactly what Timmy looks like right now, stretched out all over their bed, looking exceedingly pleased with himself. "Are you wearing those striped pajamas?"

"Why yes, being that it's nighttime, and I'm in bed--of course I am."

Donald loves stripping those ridiculous pajamas off of Timmy. "Hey, thanks for that apple pie. It's pretty good."

"Oh, you mean the Tarte de Pommes a la Normande?"

"Um, I think so?"

"It's not a pie, Donald, it's a french apple tart."

"A tart, huh?" Donald grins.

"I thought it was appropriate." Timothy yawns into the phone.

Donald laughs. "Go to sleep, honey."

"I'll call you later."

"Good night." Donald clicks the phone off, and stares out into the dark, lonely street.

****

The ring tone wakes him. Donald sits up with a jerk, eyes flying open. Fumbling for the phone, he checks his watch. Two-thirty in the morning.

"You fell asleep, didn't you?" Timmy says when Donald finally gets the phone open.

"Crap." Donald stares across the street at the house. The lights are still out and all seems quiet. "I did. Damn it."

Timmy clucks over the phone at him. "Donald. Did you drink the coffee?"

"Of course I drank the coffee."

A car is coming down the street. At two-thirty in the morning. Curious.

Alert now, Donald reaches for his camera. "Honey--"

"I knew I shouldn't have included that tart. All that sugar probably made you drowsy," Timmy says. "Although, how you can fall asleep in that car is beyond me. I swear to god, Donald, I need a visit to my chiropractor every time I drive that thing."

The car slows down in front of the house and pulls over, right under the streetlight.

"Hey, gotta go, Timmy." With a broad grin, Donald hangs up the phone and rolls down his window.

****

The sun is beginning to rise and the sky is a rich, deep pink when Donald drops the film off at his favorite all-night shop. By the time he gets home he's humming, wide awake and happy, because the pictures are going to be great and he has a great big fat paycheck coming his way.

He tosses the camera bag on the kitchen table, leaves his coat on the couch, and takes the stairs two at a time. When he reaches their bedroom he bursts through the door.

"Good morning, Timothy."

Timmy grunts, blinks open his eyes and frowns.

"I thought you said you couldn't go to sleep without me." Donald kicks his shoes off and climbs onto the bed.

Timmy pulls the sheet up under his chin and gives Donald a sidelong look. "Excuse me, handsome young stranger. Do I know you?"

"Yes, you do." Donald tugs the sheet back down, exposing Timmy in his navy blue and white striped glory. "Allow me to refresh your memory." He starts to unbutton Timmy's pajama top.

Timmy tucks his chin in and watches Donald's hand. "There is something rather familiar about all this. Hmmm...let me see--Strickly, right?"

Donald shakes his head. "Nope."

"Scratchy?"

"No." When the shirt is completely unbuttoned, Donald slides his hand beneath the edge, pushing it aside to frame Timmy's wonderfully hairy chest. "Try again." He rubs his thumb over a perky nipple.

Timmy snaps his fingers. "I know. Bobby Ambrose--we met at the coffee shop--"

Donald ducks down and sucks on the nipple, hard.

"Oh," Timmy gasps dramatically. "Oh, Bobby."

Donald is still laughing when Timmy pulls him up for a kiss. "You," he says, and then his lips touch down on Timmy's warm, generous mouth and he doesn't think about anything at all for a good long time.

When he finally pulls back, Timmy smiles up him and asks, "I take it things went well?"

"Extremely well. You woke me up right before Mr. X drove down the street," Donald told him. "I got all the proof my client needs."

"Terrific. Another job well done." He pats Donald's back. "Now, can we get some sleep, finally? I'm exhausted. I hate these all nighters."

Donald nods, and gives Timmy a quick kiss. "Sure, go right ahead. Don't mind me." He kisses Timmy's throat.

"Okay, then." Timmy lifts his chin. "Goodnight, honey."

Donald nuzzles his way down Timmy's neck and Timmy squirms, breathless and panting at his touch.

"I'll just be right here," Donald continues. He licks Timmy's collarbone, then sucks on a nipple before sliding his hands down Timmy's chest until they resting on the waistband of those awful, awful pajama bottoms. "Just keeping myself busy--"

Timmy eagerly lifts his hips.

Donald tugs the pants down, and finds himself staring at a very wide awake and very erect cock, pointing straight up at him. "You know, I'm starting to think you're not really tired at all."

"Very observant of you, Detective."

Donald kisses the tip of Timmy's cock. "My keen powers of observation." He nods up at Timmy, who is propped up on his elbows, watching. "That's why I'm so good at my job. Detective Strachy, at your service." Donald sides his mouth down over Timmy's cock and sucks, hard.

And when Timmy moans, "Oh, Donald, you are definitely hired", Donald laughs out loud.