puchuupoet: (o hai sorta drunk nao)
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Title: watched love pass you by
Author: Puchuupoet
Fandom: Tropic Thunder
Pairing: Peckernuts (Rick Peck/Tugg Speedman)
Word Count: ~600
Rating: PG-13ish
Disclaimer: Not mine, no harm meant, just for fun.

Notes: THIS IS WHY I SHOULDN'T DRINK AND WATCH MOVIES WITH [livejournal.com profile] playthefool CAUSE SHE ENCOURAGES ME WHEN I THROW CRACK IDEAS AT HER ♥♥♥ And the title's from the "Sometimes When We Touch" lyrics.

ALSO, HI NEW FRIENDS! Umm, I'll have a real intro post up tomorrow, I just got distracted tonight :p

Pecker pauses when the screen lights up, strains of "Sometimes When We Touch" mournfully wailing out. It's typically a comforting song, reminding him of friendship shared, but tonight, with Tugg - Tugboat - lost out there in god knows where, it's a bittersweet melody.

He stands up from his desk, stretching his back out before heading towards the window. The floor is empty, the only light coming from his desk lamp, and the air is starting to feel hot and sticky against his skin. Pecker cracks open one of the windows, gazing down at the view below. The breeze is welcomed relief, and Pecker leans his head against the window frame.

The heat reminds him of that summer night back in the dorms, years ago. When everyone else had moved out and it was just him and Tugboat, finishing up their packing, the silence only broken by the sharp tear of packing tape and the buzz from the heat and the insects. There was something in the air that night, something that caused them to flinch whenever they brushed up against each other, something that flared up whenever they glanced at each other and realized that they were going their separate ways the next day.

That night's a blur in his memories, a hazy scene that he only remembers in bits and pieces. How the grey carpet didn't hide all of the stains, how the blinds were bent where he and Tugboat would peek out onto the quad Saturday nights. Pecker remembers the bruise he got when he first stumbled into Tugg, his side pressing against the stack of cardboard boxes until the boxes toppled over and the two of them quickly followed. Pecker shoved the boxes out of the way as Tugg pushed his tshirt up, hands wrapping around Pecker's back to try and draw him closer.

Pecker doesn't remember a lot of the details; gave those up so that he could cling to the memory of the night as a whole. How everything was sweaty and slick, how Tugg's shoulder tasted like salt and the noise Tugg made when Pecker found that out, licking and whimpering and biting down. He remembers how Tugg arched up into him when he finally reached lower, how that pressed them together and made them both cry out. When Pecker jokingly called him Tuggernuts, and despite his protesting, Pecker could see the pleased smile and the blush that covered his cheeks.

There's a sharp cry from a seagull that pulls Pecker back the present, and he leans back from the opened window. There's that last memory he clings to, the one he pulls out when the days are long and the business calls lacking; the memory that presses him forward. He wonders if Tugg does the same, or if it's a hopeless ache he'll have to bear alone.

They're crowded together on Pecker's twin bed, warm and slick with sweat but unable to bring themselves to sleep in separate beds. Pecker can feel Tugg's breath on his chest, an even in out that he's been counting, trying to match his own breath to. Keeping them in-sync for as long as possible, til tomorrow drags them apart.

Pecker shifts, waits til Tugg's breathing changes before he talks. "I'll always be there for you," he whispers, lips brushing against Tugg's ear.

Tugg just smiles, fingers tightening around Pecker's side. "I know you will."


When Vivica comes in the next morning, Pecker's office is empty, the tv off. There's a note on her desk, a post-it with a barely legible scrawl: Tugg needs help, I'll be gone for awhile.

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