The notes started off as a kind of joke. Tommy had been walking past Bob’s house in the morning, feeling particularly mischievous and he decided to write Bob a quick letter. Needless to say Bob wasn’t impressed with ‘CAZZO -T’ scrawled on the back of a receipt and he decided to pay Tommy back in full, making the trip over to his house and putting a pineapple in his letterbox. Tommy had laughed when he read the note attached with a rubber band, ‘Go stick this somewhere –B’ and later that night he shared the pineapple with Phra. Soon Bob and Tommy were checking their letterboxes with some trepidation trying to anticipate what the other would be placing in them, Tommy pulling out women’s lingerie still in its packaging and Bob finding instant coffee sachets that were immediately sent back to Tommy. It quickly became a game between them, alternating between freaking out the other person and actually providing them with something useful. On Tommy’s birthday he had found a book that he’d been coveting for a while with a note reading ‘The detective is the murderer –B’ sticky-taped to the cover. The note had been viciously ripped up and sent back to Bob along with a carton of long-life milk. The game carried over onto tour with them where they began to team up and leave notes for people to find; Phra finding one tucked securely in his beard which read ‘Santa –TBB’ and Steve finding twenty notes in his right shoe with ‘Nice socks – TBB’.

The tour season finished and soon they were both flying back to Italy. It didn’t stop on the flight home, Bob sliding an air sickness bag across the two fold-out tables with a pen attached instead of turning his head to talk. It also kept them entertained for the majority of the flight playing Hangman and noughts and crosses until the entire bag was completely covered in scribbles. Once home, the weather prevented any personal note deliveries, instead them both having to relying on the district postman. The days flew by and before either of them knew it, Christmas was only a few sleeps away. The exchange of notes had all but dried up with each of them being busy with preparations, yet each one received was thoroughly read and a carefully thought out reply written out. Eventually Christmas Eve rolled around and the streets were covered in a thin layer of frost that cracked underfoot. Tommy had finally finished his decorating and was relaxing in front of the heater with the book that Bob had given him. The clock’s steady ticking and the low hum of the heater began lulling Tommy to sleep and his eyelids began to slowly shut, so he jerked awake when there was a sudden knock at the door. He got to his feet slightly unsteady and opened the door, half expecting some complete stranger at the door, and was greeted with the sight of a snow covered Bob holding a placard. Tommy leaned against the doorframe grinning, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation. Bob flipped over the placard and Tommy had to laugh at Bob’s messy scrawl across it. “Merry Christmas,” he mouthed as he read, then looked back up at Bob still standing patiently, cheeks pink with the cold. Tommy smiled, then spread his arms wide “Idiot, come in before you freeze.” Bob grinned and ripped up the placard, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Prompt: Breakfast

Rating: PG

Warning: slice-of-life, slight swearing

Breakfast has always been something of an informal occasion for the both of them. Being on tour constantly means that there’s sometimes precious little time to eat in the morning and sometimes they even eat in the cars on the way to the shows, unwrapped snacks balanced across knees, holding flimsy Styrofoam cups with some sort of hot liquid in it; and even off tour, Bob’s busy with his other projects and Tommy sleeps in until lunch time. So when Tommy suggests that they meet up for breakfast, Bob almost has a heart attack from the surprise but readily agrees, setting his alarm for 7 AM the next morning.

Even so, Bob arrives at Tommy’s house later than expected, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck providing some protection from the cold as well as some much desired anonymity, covering his unique tattoo. Rubbing his hands together to get some circulation back into his fingers, Bob breathes into his cupped hands before ringing the door bell. In response there’s a sound of something being dropped and Tommy’s ‘Fuck!’ is audible even through the door, then the door’s being opened and Tommy’s head pops out. “I’ll just be a minute…” he trails off and looks helplessly at Bob who shrugs and pushes the door open anyway. He stands in the entry hall and has to suppress a laugh; Tommy’s wearing a blue and white chequered apron covered in flour-y fingerprints and there’s a smudge of batter on his cheek, probably from where he’s absent-mindedly wiped his face in concentration. “I brought some coffee?” he says, and shakes the bulging pocket of his jacket for emphasis. “Sounds good, you know where the machine is,” Tommy goes back into the kitchen and there’s the sound of water on porcelain and scrubbing. Bob follows, carelessly draping his scarf over a chair and kicking off his shoes into a corner.

Tommy’s back is to Bob, but he can see the food spread out on the table. Pancakes, thick and fluffy, are stacked high on a plate and there’s a small bowl of fresh berries next to them. A tub of honey sits next to it with a small pat of butter on a plate by its side. A bottle of orange juice is in the middle of the table next to a bottle of milk that Bob eyes with disdain. He turns to face Tommy who’s drying his hands on a tea towel, Bob remembers getting him a pack for Christmas a few years back and he smiles seeing them being put to good use. Tommy sees his smile, and feels the corners of his lips twitch in response, “Let’s eat?”

They stuff themselves on the pancakes until Bob is sure he’ll have to loosen his belt then he remembers about the coffee still sitting in his jacket pocket. He looks at it longingly but can’t seem to find the energy to move, body not used to so much food in the morning. Tommy senses his plight and with a roll of his eyes, gets up to make coffee. The bitter smell of the coffee beans being brewed soon permeates the air and Bob inhales deeply, the smell invigorating him. A mug of deep, dark brew is placed in front of him and Bob wraps his hands around it, mouth already watering in anticipation. He hears the sound of the milk being poured and then the clink-clink of a spoon swirling around in the mug, spreading the creamy liquid throughout the coffee and he grimaces at the thought of putting milk in his own drink. “Salute, Bob.” Tommy’s raises his mug and Bob mirrors the motion, “Salute, Tommy”, and the mugs clink, a wordless promise of more breakfasts to come.

Prompt: Disney

Rating: PG

Warnings: Suggested relationship, slice-of-life, a kiss

They were babysitting one of Bob’s friend’s kids and she got overexcited, running around the house screaming and Tommy’s chasing only made it worse, adding high pitched giggles to the noise. Bob massaged his temples feeling the beginnings of a headache, the squeals and Tommy’s playful growling getting to him so when she ran past him again screaming about dinosaurs, he grabbed her around the middle and swung her onto the couch. Tommy soon joined him, panting slightly and grinned at Bob. “You’re such a party pooper,” he said, and swung himself over the back of the couch to land next to the kid with a thump. “A what now?” Bob looked puzzled and waited for an explanation. “It’s something I picked up in London,” Tommy replied with a smile and leaned down to look at the child, who was watching both of them with wide eyes. “I’m bored,” she announced and she squirmed towards the front of the couch as if to start running again. “No, no, no,” Bob ran around to the front of the couch and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down. “So what should we do?” Tommy asked her while she tugged his curls gently, watching them spring back into position.

“Want to watch a movie?” Bob suggested and she frowned in concentration then nodded enthusiastically. She rolled off the couch and ran to the cabinet, throwing it open and gathering all the DVDs before running back and throwing them all into Tommy’s lap. She clambered back onto the couch and started rummaging through them, before holding aloft ‘Beauty and the Beast’. “This one,” she said with conviction, and settled back into the couch, head resting against Tommy’s side. “Would you mind?” asked Tommy and proffered the DVD out to Bob who sighed, resigned to his role and accepted it, placing it in the DVD player.

“Popcorn,” a small voice from next to Tommy piped up and Bob groaned inwardly, before getting up and going to the kitchen. He began rummaging in the cupboard looking for the popcorn, squeals of “Belle! Belle!” coming from the living room, providing a taste of Bob had to look forward for one and a half hours. Finding the popcorn, he shoved it in the microwave and set the timer, getting salt and butter ready. Bob cocked his head to one side, a slight smile on his face as he leant against the wall of the kitchen listening to Tommy and her sing ‘Gaston’ at the top of their lungs. He joined them around the scene where Belle refused to meet with the Beast and she immediately dived into the popcorn, coming up with two handfuls before dumping them unceremoniously in her pajama top spread out across her lap, a happy ‘thank you’ directed at no one in particular. Tommy turned to whisper a ‘thank you’ to him as well, pulling Bob down to sit next to him before reaching into the bowl and popping a few into his mouth.

She began to drift off as Belle descended the stairs in her ball gown, tugging at Tommy’s hem to make him lean over so he could hear her. “I’m going to be a princess someday,” she said sleepily, eyes already beginning to close, “And you can be a princess too. I’ll share my castle with you.” Tommy laughed softly and put his arm around her tiny shoulders, hugging her to his side, “Thank you piccola principessa.” With that, she was satisfied and soon gentle snoring was escaping her. Tommy nudged Bob in the side, apparently engrossed in the movie and jerked his head in her direction. “I’ll take her up to her room,” he whispered and picked her up in his arms, princess style before leaving. Bob paused the DVD and stretched, grateful for a slight break in the movie when Tommy came back down, arms now empty. “She’s asleep then?” he asked and Tommy nodded, sitting back down and throwing his arm on the back of the seat. Bob restarted the DVD and they both watched in silence until Bob’s friend returned, pressing into their hands some chocolate, waving away their protests that it was their pleasure to do baby-sit.

They arrived back at Bob’s apartment, both deciding to eat the chocolate on the couch before going to sleep. “So are you going to be my Prince Charming?” Tommy asked with a smile, flecks of chocolate around his lips and Bob laughed before replying, “I always am.” Tommy grinned, wrapping his arms around Bob’s shoulder and fluttering his eyelashes like a melodramatic damsel in distress, “So where’s my kiss?” He puckered his lips, awaiting the kiss, but Bob only rolled his eyes, pushing a piece of chocolate into Tommy’s mouth. “There, you lovesick fool.” Tommy laughed, holding Bob tighter. “That was nice, but it could be better,” and he demonstrated, sharing a chocolate flavoured kiss. Bob hesitated then licked his lips, “Yeah, these are better,” and they spent the remainder of the evening in a chocolate tinted haze.

Filed under The Bloody Beetroots Sir Bob Cornelius Rifo tommy tea beetrootsfic slash

3 notes

December 15, 2011

Couch

Rating: G

Warnings: Slice-of-life

7 notes

November 11, 2011

First time (part one)

Rating: PG

Warnings: Kissing, badly written fic

Requested: Tommy and Bob’s first time trying to have some steamy sex.

4 notes

November 10, 2011

Car troubles

Rating: PG

Warnings: Swearing, badly written fic, weird humour

8 notes

October 27, 2011

Birthday present

Special two-fer for the price of one.

Rating: NC-17 (very NSFW, especially the second story)

Pairing: Beetroots

Warnings: PWP

Tommy thrust into the older man, making him arch against Tommy’s chest. Sweat dripped down between them as his movements increased in pace. “Oh fuck,” he heard Bob whisper before he reached a hand behind Tommy’s head and pulled him into a kiss. Tongues danced with each other and Tommy heard a moan. “Bob, Bob, Bob.” The name rolled off his lips like a prayer.

“I’m so close,” Bob panted against Tommy’s ear, making him shudder. Tommy could only swallow and nod. Grasping Bob by the hips, he redoubled his efforts and was rewarded with a low moan. Burying his face against the crook of Bob’s neck; Tommy bit and licked and sucked the skin there, marking him (mine and no one elses) “Tommy.” One hand entangled in Tommy’s hair and the other gripping his shoulder, Bob came. The hand in Tommy’s hair pulled (you’re mine, no one else can do this to me) and Tommy followed suit. They lay together for a moment then Tommy pulled out slowly, relishing the sensations of Bob shuddering beneath him. “That…was good.” Bob said, cheeks still flushed, sweat dripping a slow line down his shoulder. Eyes on Bob’s face, Tommy leant across and kissed the droplet away and inwardly grinned when Bob’s eyes flickered shut. He ran a hand through Tommy’s curls and pulled him up for a kiss. “You taste like sweat.” Bob murmured against Tommy’s lips when they parted. “Funny, you didn’t complain before.” Tommy replied with a tired smile. “You didn’t give me a chance to.” They both laughed and Tommy wrapped his arms around the smaller man “Happy birthday to me.”

Pairing: Beetroots

Warnings: PWP, badly written fic

Slick fingers insert slowly, circling the entrance, teasing Bob. Bite marks are left on his shoulder tattoo, replaced with lips and tongue. The other hand moves up to his piercing, starts rubbing gently. Fingers replaced with lips tugging the bar gently, hot breath washes across skin.

Whimpers and moans, teeth biting lips to keep sound in; no begging (he’s motherfucking Bob Rifo) but when Tommy presses just there, he can’t stop his hands from gripping the sheets, can’t stop his legs trembling, can’t stop his hips from jerking up, can’t stop himself from moaning long and loud. A soft chuckle makes him sit up with difficulty and he whacks Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy’s relishing in the fact that Bob’s slowly coming undone and he smiles, bordering on a smirk. “Say it,” and Bob knows he knows what power he has over him, only him, and he shivers, looking anywhere but those deep brown eyes that are darkened with lust. “..N-No,” he mutters and Tommy just presses that spot again, just a little harder and lights explode behind Bob’s eyes and all he can see is white and he’s arched off the bed and he’s gripping the sheets so tightly he’s sure they’ll rip then he’s collapsing back down. “Say it,” he hears from somewhere in front of him, and that finger is back, pushing and stroking and when he feels lips wrap around him, he almost sobs.

Tommy pulls away slowly and deliberately and flicks his tongue out to rub it against the slit, slowly running it down the shaft, finding the spot that makes Bob see white again, then he’s sucking Bob hard, making his toes curl and the suction’s gone all too quickly leaving Bob very sweaty and very unsatisfied. Tommy sits up and grins that grin at the panting mess beneath him. “We’re not done yet,” a promise that makes Bob moan inwardly.

Attention is switched to Bob’s chest, licking a trail up over trembling, sweaty skin, biting at tattoos then continuing up. He’s at the anarchist tattoo and he traces it with a fingertip making Bob shudder and squirm, then his lips barely touching the skin until Bob arches unexpectedly and Tommy gets a faceful of chest. He rubs his nose, chuckling, and leans back down to lick at the tattoo, making sure to hold Bob’s shoulders down. One of his hands is wandering up to Bob’s face, caressing the flushed cheek, running in down his neck past the bobbing Adam’s apple, lingering slightly at the collarbones where the ‘1977’ tattoo stands out against pale skin, and down to Bob’s hip.

Tommy takes one of Bob’s hands, untangling it from the sheets and shifts his attentions to his fingers, licking at the finger tip, slow caresses on the pad, enjoying the roughness of it against his tongue and the noises Bob’s making. Bob’s other hand is at Tommy’s hip now, fingers digging in and there’ll be bruises tomorrow but right now Tommy could care less. All he wants to hear is that one, little, word, and he places light kisses on Bob’s palm; kisses his wrist, kisses his forearm, his bicep, his shoulder, his collarbone, and Bob’s whole body is trembling now, the underside of his chin, his cheek, his forehead.

“If you’re going to kiss, do it properly,” Bob’s voice is throaty, like it is after a concert, and it makes heat pool in Tommy’s groin very quickly but he’s not going to hurry, and he’s sure he’s going to hear Bob say it before the night is through. He licks at Bob’s lips and chuckles inwardly as they part, inviting a kiss, but he ignores it to move down Bob’s body again, the skin on skin contact driving them both slowly insane with want.

Teeth find the bar through Bob’s right nipple and they pull, sending a slow burn throughout Bob’s entire being and he’s stammering Tommy’s name. Teeth are replaced with fingers and they’re teasing him, rubbing in ever decreasing circles around but not quite touching, so, so, close. Bob can barely think straight any more, being teased for so long his mind’s a mess filled with sensations of being touched and wanting to touch and when Tommy flicks the bar, sending pleasure sparking throughout his torso, he snaps; babbling Tommy’s name, hands gripping in sweat-damp curls, forcing his head up for a kiss. He puts everything he has into the kiss, all his frustrations, lust, want, and when they pull apart, it leaves them both a little breathless. They make eye contact and Tommy smirks, cocky in his victory. “Say it.” Every fiber of Bob’s being will regret this tomorrow but right now they’re all screaming yes, yes, yes.

He swallows, looks off to the right, the left, anywhere but that damn smug face right now, and mutters, “Please.” Tommy’s wondering if he should tease Bob, “Nope.” And Tommy’s never seen him looked so pissed off and he’s opening his mouth to probably shout but Tommy swallows unsaid words with a deep kiss. He moves down Bob’s body once more and in one swift through enters Bob. After being teased for so long, Bob is loose enough for it not to hurt and it doesn’t take long from him to come, already on the brink. Utterly boneless now, Bob relaxes but Tommy’s not done yet, pulling out and rolling Bob onto his stomach. “Wa-wait!” Bob protests but Tommy is too far gone, and he’s thrusting into Bob brutally, hitting that spot again and again, one hand on Bob’s hips, the other on the bed for stability. Bob’s sobbing now, back arched and all he can do is keep moving to match the thrusts and incredulously he’s hard again. Tommy’s moving his hand from Bob’s hip, wrapping it around him, leaning over and whispering, “Come for me ciccio,” and Bob’s gone, Tommy close behind, filling him with molten heat.

His whole body trembling, Tommy barely keeps from collapsing on top of Bob and with a herculean effort, falls to the side. Bob still hasn’t moved from where he fell, and Tommy wonders for a split second if this is the fabled ‘sex coma’. He rests a hand on the small of his back. “Bobby?” He feels a twitch beneath his hand, and Tommy idly runs a land lower. That gets a reaction, Bob turning to face him and Tommy decides that annoyed but sexed up is a good expression on Bob. Bob’s face relaxes and he moves closer to Tommy, head resting on his shoulder. “You’re going to kill me one day,” he groans and Tommy chuckles weakly before asking “So only on my birthday and special dates then?” He feels Bob nod on his shoulder and he laughs. Letting his head fall to the side, he spots the clock on the wall and an idea begins to form. “We’ve still got a few hours before we have to get going,” he begins, and Bob hits him with a pillow.

Filed under beetrootsfic Sir Bob Cornelius Rifo tommy tea The Bloody Beetroots slash

7 notes

October 26, 2011