You Belong to Me:


Sunlight crept through the drawn, partially closed venetian blinds and created shadow bars across the bed, as though sunlight had created a comfortable prison in the bedroom. The room was unspectacular, with an aging blue-gray mock oriental rug, a battered and very plain wardrobe and mirror, a bookcase overflowing with Zane Gray and assorted other western authors and a full sized bed with mismatched sheets. The sheets were rumpled, and the slowly creeping sunlight played over two sleeping figures, dark haired, one tall and gangly, with his arm thrown over the slightly shorter man.

Connor Cho McMillan heaved an languid sigh in his half sleep, a smile spreading across his mouth like a cat who dreamed that he was sent to live in a creamery, and has woken up to find out that it’s true. The alarm clock, which lived under the bed (forcing Tully to lean over to get it, instead of succumbing to the temptation to pick it up and hurl it across the room), would go off within fifteen minutes, but right now everything was bliss. It was as close to his dreams as he’d achieved yet. Of course several beers and a fillet minion dinner hadn’t hurt. Tully slept like a satiated lion after a good dinner.

Tully gave a mild grunt in his sleep and stirred, wrinkling his nose slightly at something in his dreams, and gave a huge sigh, one of the first signs that he was on the road to waking up, albeit reluctantly. He was one of those inherently obnoxious people who actually woke up based on their internal clock, the alarm clock was merely motivation for him to actually start the day, instead of lying there in a half doze until primal needs of some form or another summoned him away from his comfortable lair.

Connor didn’t move, or lift his arm as Tully muttered in his half sleep again, frowned faintly, and gave Connor’s hand a sleepy pat… a second pat, and then an harder, semi explorative grab. Connor grinned and controlled the urge to laugh. He could readily picture Tully’s face, he’d memorized enough of the details to easily envision the sleepy eyes going into a wide, shocked look, the jaw setting, mouth thinning.

“…Con…”

“Yes Tully?”

“…What are you doing in my bed, Con…”

“You mean you don’t remember our night of wild passionate debauchery?”

Tully sputtered and released his grip on Connor’s hand. “Con! Quit screwing around!” He protested, then apparently regretted his particular turn of phrase. “Seriously, what are you doing? Get out of my… you’re wearing shorts right?” He thought, belatedly. Much as he didn’t want Connor in his bed, he didn’t want to see Connor naked again either. He’d experienced that particular joy once or twice and tried to avoid it.

“Maybe.” Connor smirked, avoiding the question, and tightening his grip around Tully, who was trying to get a grip on the edge of the bed with his feet to pry himself free.

“Con! Spill!” He demanded, struggling.

“Hmph…” Connor sighed, not liking to admit to the situation. It wasn’t an emotion he was especially proud of. “I’m protecting you from Quinn.”

Tully craned to turn his head and stare at Connor out of the corner of one eye, his expression incredulous.
“From QUINN? The nut job Cockatoo?” He demanded, clearly wondering what was going through his partners head to think that he needed protection from a feather covered gene-modded noodle in barely legal clothing. Connor looked guilty, but didn’t relinquish his grip. Tully had partially stopped struggling, if only from confusion and surprise. “Why the hell do I need protection from the feather duster? He’d blow over in a stiff breeze.”

“Well I’m hardly going to let him steal you, I don’t know if you missed it but he’d love to get his hands on you.”

“…You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I was afraid he’d break in and try and do something horrible to you!”

“QUINN??” Tully found it hard to believe they were talking about the same person. “Connor, you could hear his clothing coming. Not the fabric, the colors. There is no way that walking feather-boa could sneak –anywhere-, let alone break into my room and…” He cringed. “Have his way.”

Connor jammed his other arm around Tully in an passionate bear hug, earning a startled and breathless grunt from the other man, which probably would have been considerably more explicit had he been able to breathe.

“Well –I- got in!”

“Connor I swear to god if you don’t let go of me…” Tully wheezed, resuming his struggles and trying to pry Connor’s arms loose. It was a futile gesture, Connor had his arms pinned and his lanky arms were stronger than they first appeared. Apparently handling so much baking supplies was an much better work out than Tully would have anticipated.

“I have to protect your precious adorable @$$!!” Connor cried passionately, now, he had to admit, enjoying the theatrics as Tully squirmed like a cornered cat, the alarm clock under the bed providing further protests.

“CONNOR!!”

“You’re Mine! I won’t let him have you!!”

“CONNNOOORRRRRRRR!!”