Okay, I'm flinging this up before bed and will probably rethink hijacking OP's post with it. (Sorry! I can repost this separately if you'd like!) It's just 👆👆👆 his fault. Wanted to write something short before bed, and thought of this and how many are saying that looks like a Chico shirt. Though this ficlet takes place post-series. You know, after the bonding and trust exercises I always have them having gone through offscreen in Lardner for They're Friends Now backstory. (...the trust exercises probably involved harming other people to protect each other, but still.)
Miguel greeted him with a nod towards Chico's bunk, not really looking up from the whole lazy magazine reading, two legged chair balancing act he was doing. “Your shit's on the bed.”
Huh? Chico bounced up, craning to look before leaving the entryway. “Aww, you get me a housewarming gift, Miguel?”
Tits? Nah, Miguel was too cautious and clever, and all that up in his head shit for that. Looked like… clothes? Hey, can hide tits in clothes, sure.
Miguel's scoff was directed at his reading material. “This ain't a house.”
Thud of two chair legs to the ground, Miguel shifted to a forward hunch with widespread thighs, arms resting there with his magazine fluttering between. “Could get you a nice split lip as a welcome to the pod, how about that?” At least the whole pessimistic doom thing he'd intoned at Chico with at first fell away real quickly for that familiar sly tease. Then fluttering paper half-fell to hang from one hand when Miguel thoughtfully ran the back of the other over his jaw line, all smooth. All vaguely looking out the glass like he was pondering, not at Chico still. “Or a pretty bruise, yeah?”
That's what had him tilting his head over at Chico, cheeky as fuck, sarcastic grin shining wide, peering up from below his lashes like a damn–
Chico scoffed right the fuck back at him, waving off that ridiculous idea.
Was just fucking around. They didn't fight any more. Well, not for like, real. Had their disagreements, worked ‘em out. Hadn't shared their little plastic pod before now, but Chico had no doubt they'd be good. Had kept each other's asses alive in Lardner. (But they'd been bunked with other guys, overcrowding bullshit.)
Oh, it was clothes. His, stacked and folded, kind of easygoing and loosely leaning, but nice.
Feeling them up made the sloppy folds fall further apart, sleeve of his flannel coming out to wave at him – no drugs. No nothing.
Chico squinted over to where Miguel was refocused on his turning pages. “You washed my clothes?” Not like, all of them, just a couple shirts and a pair of pants. Hadn't rifled through Chico's underwear or anything. (Not that he would've given a fuck, really. Miguel wanted to root through his dirty drawers? Well, that was a Miguel issue, no skin off Chico.)
Oh, that tease was gone now for the short explanation, Miguel acting all disinterested.
Aw, self-conscious, doing nice shit for Chico, made him grumpy.
Sure, one same-ish shirt could've been a mistake. But they kept their dirty laundry separate, and that was too many mistakes, especially since Miguel didn't own a flannel that shade, despite how it would've gone fine with his still avoidant eyes and all.
Chico grinned at him, leaning back against the bunk until Miguel had to fucking look at him again, at some point.
Was trying real hard not to, at the moment.
“Thanks, man. I owe you anything?” Came out with his own shrug, easy. Clean laundry at his back, Chico gave the guy a break. Look, was a nice thing, okay? And for Miguel, not thinking only of his own ass and walling himself off again now that they were back in Em City, throwing in some of Chico's shirts was an especially nice thing.
Looked out for each other, see?
Miguel's gaze sliced his way real fast, but he shrugged back to his reading. “Nah, we're good. Just needed to throw some shit in to make a load.”
Chuckle escaped him as he shifted the fresh clothes, carrying into his muttering with a shake. “...needed to make a load, huh? Yeah, I know the feeling, right? That a skin mag there, hone–”
“Yo, man, shut up,” dismissed with exasperation, before Miguel eyeballed him again, shaking a finger at him, all half-assed from still holding his magazine. “Can still give you that split lip.”
Chico could see the light in his damn brown eyes, not all glowering, and knew he was hiding amusement behind his stubborn mouth, refusing to curve up (too far). Had Chico's laugh spilling out further, filling their pod.
Yeah, they were good these days.
Will possibly archive it later, because it is basically complete (just plotless), and am sleepy now.
titsay
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
areudirty
