Caleb Danvers

"... you're crazy."

"Maybe."

"So you just..." But Pogue's fingers were already moving, tracing along the sleek lines of the bike, eyes alight.

"Yeah, I did. I could, and..." Caleb shrugged.

"You didn't have to."

He looked down. "Maybe not." He breathed in, then blurted out the rest, words that he'd been swallowing since the damned accident. "But it wasn't right watching you without one, y'know? Like watching somebody who should and wants to fly… hobble, limited by stuff that shouldn't be getting in your way."

A few blond strands fell across Pogue's face as he looked up, head canted to one side a bit, obscuring his expression. Or maybe it would have been hard to read anyway. Then he moved to check over the Ducati, getting-back-in-the-habit like. "So..."

The older boy shrugged. He knew that today would be hard enough for the birthday boy anyway. This, this was for him alone.

"So I suppose you'll want a ride, one of these days?"

"I wouldn't dream of getting in the way for the first--"

"Oh, shaddup." The words shot his way along with a helmet. The one that came with this bike, Caleb noticed as his best friend only moved in the garage to grab his own one from a shelf. "Let's see what this baby can do."

A/N: Companion piece to this. Set in the Pile o' Puppies 'verse. Written to an inspiration for a while and this picture prompt.

Fundraisers. They had all grown up with those, even though the people who mattered knew that the old Ipswich families did the bulk of their charity away from the public eye, quiet and very efficient. However, there were all kinds. For some people, the chance to mingle in certain manners was the way to stir their public conscience. Caleb knew the necessity of that. Also he didn't share quite the level of distaste he knew Pogue had for them. They were social functions learned as soon as he could be taught, it was almost reflexive.

Besides, it was a Tyler gig. No way were they going to fail in showing up to support him. Secondary factors like it being at school and such, it being at home generally, so everybody knew them and expected them to do things - they just didn't register the same way. One of them was doing something, they were all helping, however they could.

Caleb looked in to check how Pogue was doing, paused a moment at the door. Monkey suit or not, the damned thing looked stunning on the blond. (Of course, everything did, to, and so did nothing, but it was still... spectacular. Endearing, too, paired up with the fact that Pogue was not enjoying it too much.) Then he wrinkled his nose at the long fair strands getting slicked back, carefully and unnecessarily. He let it happen, anyway, because it took him a moment to step nearer and point out, softly so as not to startle him and close, because he didn't want not to be so, "you don't have to do that." The rich, slightly chapped lips stretched into a smile even before their eyes met in the mirror. "With the gel, I mean."

Pogue chuckled. "It falls out and gets in my face otherwise." Caleb knew that part; it was why the bandana while he was working, and why lips and fingers had even more reasons to taste the suntanned skin and blond hair in intimate moments. And now he couldn't help but reach to touch, nothing more than brushing down the suit coat smoother, first. Then his hands rose to caress over Pogue's shoulders, which wasn't quite like half an embrace, but it wasn't not, either - and his husband's eyes reflected that.

My husband. Made Caleb step closer, reach further down, cover his hands, and it felt like a single motion continued when Pogue twined their fingers together, lead their arms around his waist, moved back to meet him. When they moved, when they touched like that, it felt like anything was disjointed, short, stunted, not-right - this was how it should be. And it is.

Pogue was likely feeling it, too, as his head rolled slightly back against his shoulder and he remarked quietly, "we don't absolutely have to go..."

Which was true. Nobody could make them do anything that they did not want to do. But... "We promised Tyler we would," Caleb reminded gently, turning his head slightly to kiss his temple and then grimacing: the taste of hair gel hadn't improved significantly since the boys first discovered it in their early teens. Pogue's face fell slightly, and he added, "we don't have to stay that long. A couple hours, then we can come home."

Now that seemed good to hear, judging by the slight motion closer into the embrace, the easing of the face, the corners of the closed eyes. The slightly breathless tone to the next words. "Come home. W... I like the sound of that." We have a home. Our home. Yes, they'd had it for years... and it was still different.

Caleb raised their hands a little, shifted his hold. The feel of metal on metal was different from either skin on skin or metal on skin, a tiny little jolt, if one was paying sufficient attention. It felt still new, it looked still new... and yet, like the so many ways they fit together, so did the sight of their wedding bands touching. Infinity. Yours. Always. His eyes crept up to look at Pogue's face, and were met by the hazel ones, full to overflowing with the same love, lost and content with only each other.

He was tugging Pogue around because kissing over his shoulder didn't seem enough, didn't seem just for the moment; lips met lips, but that wasn't all of it: bodies melted against each other, and a warmth settled around him, deep down, bright and amazing. Caleb's head swam, time went away - it had that habit.

... an indeterminate time later, Pogue's voice nudged him out of that. "You sure we have to go?" The blond never whined, but there was definitely a quality to the tone that hinted at it. Which made it all the more teasing, and Caleb lips tugged into an appreciative smile without really moving away.

"Mm-hmm." No, neither of them wanted to move away. And yet they were going to... well. They would return to this in... "two hours."

"Two hours," Pogue repeated, and smiled, too, Caleb could see it in his eyes before another kiss closed them; and it was sweet and gentle, too. "I'll hold you to that."

"You'd better." Softly, and then he took a tiny step back. So he could look at his face again. Fingers moving down along the collar, the shoulders of the suit, the tie.

"I think that works better if you're actually looking at what you're straightening up..."

Caleb smiled again. "That's alright. You always get everything perfect the first try." Oh yes, he did say that because it was true and it would give that gleam to Pogue's eyes. Just so.