Giftfic for ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brandinsbabe
Mar. 20th, 2009 04:57 pmtiptoe39Short, not really safe for work drabblet for Brandinsbabe. Call it "Cubed." I guess.
This is before Peter's even out of college, undergrad, never mind nursing school. You can tell it's early on because Nathan doesn't even have his own office, he's working out of (the indignity!) a cubicle. At least it's one of those tall cubicles where unless you go right by it you can't tell what's going on. Nathan says the curtain he's hung is to make it feel like a voting booth. It's open ninety-five percent of the time. You're welcome to knock on his "door" whenever you need. He's here in the Office of the Public Defender, after all, not some sort of private law firm.
It's bullshit.
If you were to look through that currently closed curtain now you'd see one pair of legs in one pair of properly pressed pinstripe pants, one set of feet flat on the floor, facing a side desk, not so surprising, definitely not worth the second look. Which is too bad because if you took a second look you might want to come a little closer and maybe overhear what's happening in there, and if you were to overhear what's happening in there you'd probably hear two voices. Or at least two sets of lungs breathing very, very fast.
"Fucking hell, Pete," Nathan mutters into his brother's shoulder, trying very hard not to move anything below the knees. "I'm going to break my back."
"Told you this was a bad idea," Peter says, shifting his weight on the desktop. His hand held tight to the edge of the desk, his other plastered to the handle of a row of cabinets that lined the cube's upper edge.
Nathan groans. "You're the one whose pants are lying on top of my computer monitor."
"It's not my fault you have to keep yours on! Jesus!" Peter declares, ending his heated whisper with a squeak as Nathan finds that sweet spot. "If you weren't so damn good at this that I end up here in the middle of the day begging for it..."
"If you weren't so damn sexy when you beg for it..." Nathan's lips curve into a smile. Peter leans in and kisses them.
If this cubicle's a-rockin'...
This is before Peter's even out of college, undergrad, never mind nursing school. You can tell it's early on because Nathan doesn't even have his own office, he's working out of (the indignity!) a cubicle. At least it's one of those tall cubicles where unless you go right by it you can't tell what's going on. Nathan says the curtain he's hung is to make it feel like a voting booth. It's open ninety-five percent of the time. You're welcome to knock on his "door" whenever you need. He's here in the Office of the Public Defender, after all, not some sort of private law firm.
It's bullshit.
If you were to look through that currently closed curtain now you'd see one pair of legs in one pair of properly pressed pinstripe pants, one set of feet flat on the floor, facing a side desk, not so surprising, definitely not worth the second look. Which is too bad because if you took a second look you might want to come a little closer and maybe overhear what's happening in there, and if you were to overhear what's happening in there you'd probably hear two voices. Or at least two sets of lungs breathing very, very fast.
"Fucking hell, Pete," Nathan mutters into his brother's shoulder, trying very hard not to move anything below the knees. "I'm going to break my back."
"Told you this was a bad idea," Peter says, shifting his weight on the desktop. His hand held tight to the edge of the desk, his other plastered to the handle of a row of cabinets that lined the cube's upper edge.
Nathan groans. "You're the one whose pants are lying on top of my computer monitor."
"It's not my fault you have to keep yours on! Jesus!" Peter declares, ending his heated whisper with a squeak as Nathan finds that sweet spot. "If you weren't so damn good at this that I end up here in the middle of the day begging for it..."
"If you weren't so damn sexy when you beg for it..." Nathan's lips curve into a smile. Peter leans in and kisses them.
If this cubicle's a-rockin'...