riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-07-12 01:14 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-07-12 01:14 pm
"The Bull in the China Shop" (Sunfish, 1987)
Title: The Bull in the China Shop
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes Cody finds a way to be okay with Nick's fondness for older women.
Cody raced down the tree-lined street, panting for breath, barely keeping Danny Samuelson in sight. For an overweight, middle-aged bank manager, the guy sure could run. Then again, he was running away with the key to ten thousand dollars stashed in a bus station locker clutched in his sweaty fist. Cody figured anybody would run fast for that amount of cash. Lungs burning, he redoubled his pace.
Samuelson cast a panicked glance back over his shoulder then made a hard right, heading behind a small stucco cottage framed with neat white shutters. Cody followed suit, turning the corner of the house with just enough time to take in a patio garden before Samuelson’s fist met the bridge of his nose.
The world went red then white, and Cody fell back into a patch of greenery.
Samuelson followed up with a kick to Cody’s ribs, then another, Cody clutching at stringy plants to get away, crushing the flowers and knocking peppers off the vine, crushing them under his knees.
“Hey! Asshole!”
Cody looked up in time to see Nick launch himself from the edge of the patio, driving Samuelson to the ground. The bank manager took a weak swing at him, but Nick knocked him out cold with two hard jabs, one, two. Cody tried to ignore Samuelson’s head bouncing off the concrete.
Nick rose, panting and crossed to Cody’s side, lending him a hand up, helping brush dirt from his jeans. “You okay, man? What happened?”
“Whad habbened? He brohg by dose is whad habbened, Dick.”
“Lemme see.” Nick brushed Cody’s hands away and squinted. “Ah you’re fine. No blood, no break. Walk it off, big guy, you’re fine.”
“Tell thad to by dose,” Cody said. He frowned down at the grass stains on his jeans and started to say something but realized they’d been joined by a small, frightened old woman in a housedress and apron. She stood at the back door of the cottage with a hand pressed to her mouth and tears in her eyes. “Ba’am,” Cody tried, “We’re really sorry aboud all this.” He waved a hand around.
Samuelson chose that moment to wake, sitting up woozily and shaking his head. Unlike Cody, his nose truly was broken, and blood ran freely over the lower half of his face.
With a sharp startled noise, the old woman turned and fled inside.
“Maybe she doesn’t like the sight of blood,” Cody said. Nick was right, the pain in his nose was already subsiding to a dull throb. He gingerly tested it again to make sure.
“Yeah, maybe,” Nick answered. He bent and roughly yanked Samuelson to his feet, then tugged him back toward the garden gate with a firm hand on the bank manager’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s at least take out the trash while we’re here.” He cast a look back toward the house as they headed back to the street.
***
The next morning, Cody woke up alone. The morning was sunny and already unpleasantly warm, punctuated by the ringing sounds of tourism alive and well outside on the pier. Rising, Cody searched the Riptide for his partners. Murray he found ensconced in his stateroom, wearing bug-cup headphones and squinting at a wiggling green line on a screen. It took three tries to get his attention.
“NICK?” Murray bellowed. “DO YOU KNOW WHERE HE WENT, CODY? I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM ALL MORNING.”
Ears ringing, Cody waved Murray back to his headphones and headed for the salon. The coffee pot was still warm but the keys to the Jimmy were gone from their hook. That in itself was strange; there was nothing wrong with the Vette to Cody’s knowledge, and Nick never drove the Jimmy if he could help it, said it handled like a bull in a china shop
Frowning, Cody helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat down to wait, wondering not for the first time just what a bull in a china shop might handle like. Or how you got one through the door. “Or even how you’d get the saddle on,” he muttered.
It was three cups of coffee before Nick returned.
He hung the Jimmy keys back on the hook with his back to Cody, then quickly stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Hey.”
Cody raised his eyebrows. “Hey yourself. Where’ve you been?”
“What are you, my mother? I went out.”
“Just ‘out’, Nick?”
“Yeah just out, okay?” Nick started toward the coffee pot then seemed to change his mind, turning and heading over to the far side of the salon, hands still stuffed in his pockets.
Cody frowned.
“Hey, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Go right ahead,” Cody said softly.
Nick turned and jogged down the stairs to their stateroom.
Cody waited until he heard the water run, then got up and went after him. Nick Ryder was nothing if not a creature of habit. Cody went through the pockets of Nick’s jeans methodically, with a focus born of long practice. He found the receipt from the nursery in Nick’s right back pocket, crumpled and stained with potting soil.
Nick looked over as Cody opened the door to the tiny shower cubicle. Water fitzed and spat off Nick’s skin, hitting Cody with light sprinkles. Particles of soil circled the drain.
Cody tossed the receipt on the counter and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. “You sly dog, you.” He pulled his t-shirt over his head. “Just ‘out’, huh?”
Nick didn’t say anything, just stood under the water and watched Cody carefully.
Cody unbuttoned his shorts and let them slide down his legs. “Let me guess: she grew all those peppers from seed? Three different kinds?”
Nick looked away. “Four.”
Cody slipped his briefs down over his hips and shimmied them to the floor. He stepped inside the shower next to Nick, nearly on top of him, and closed the door behind them. “Don’t go out again just yet,” he said, voice echoing off the fiberglass. With a grin, he pushed up against Nick’s wet body, and proceeded to get them both thoroughly dirty.
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes Cody finds a way to be okay with Nick's fondness for older women.
Cody raced down the tree-lined street, panting for breath, barely keeping Danny Samuelson in sight. For an overweight, middle-aged bank manager, the guy sure could run. Then again, he was running away with the key to ten thousand dollars stashed in a bus station locker clutched in his sweaty fist. Cody figured anybody would run fast for that amount of cash. Lungs burning, he redoubled his pace.
Samuelson cast a panicked glance back over his shoulder then made a hard right, heading behind a small stucco cottage framed with neat white shutters. Cody followed suit, turning the corner of the house with just enough time to take in a patio garden before Samuelson’s fist met the bridge of his nose.
The world went red then white, and Cody fell back into a patch of greenery.
Samuelson followed up with a kick to Cody’s ribs, then another, Cody clutching at stringy plants to get away, crushing the flowers and knocking peppers off the vine, crushing them under his knees.
“Hey! Asshole!”
Cody looked up in time to see Nick launch himself from the edge of the patio, driving Samuelson to the ground. The bank manager took a weak swing at him, but Nick knocked him out cold with two hard jabs, one, two. Cody tried to ignore Samuelson’s head bouncing off the concrete.
Nick rose, panting and crossed to Cody’s side, lending him a hand up, helping brush dirt from his jeans. “You okay, man? What happened?”
“Whad habbened? He brohg by dose is whad habbened, Dick.”
“Lemme see.” Nick brushed Cody’s hands away and squinted. “Ah you’re fine. No blood, no break. Walk it off, big guy, you’re fine.”
“Tell thad to by dose,” Cody said. He frowned down at the grass stains on his jeans and started to say something but realized they’d been joined by a small, frightened old woman in a housedress and apron. She stood at the back door of the cottage with a hand pressed to her mouth and tears in her eyes. “Ba’am,” Cody tried, “We’re really sorry aboud all this.” He waved a hand around.
Samuelson chose that moment to wake, sitting up woozily and shaking his head. Unlike Cody, his nose truly was broken, and blood ran freely over the lower half of his face.
With a sharp startled noise, the old woman turned and fled inside.
“Maybe she doesn’t like the sight of blood,” Cody said. Nick was right, the pain in his nose was already subsiding to a dull throb. He gingerly tested it again to make sure.
“Yeah, maybe,” Nick answered. He bent and roughly yanked Samuelson to his feet, then tugged him back toward the garden gate with a firm hand on the bank manager’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s at least take out the trash while we’re here.” He cast a look back toward the house as they headed back to the street.
***
The next morning, Cody woke up alone. The morning was sunny and already unpleasantly warm, punctuated by the ringing sounds of tourism alive and well outside on the pier. Rising, Cody searched the Riptide for his partners. Murray he found ensconced in his stateroom, wearing bug-cup headphones and squinting at a wiggling green line on a screen. It took three tries to get his attention.
“NICK?” Murray bellowed. “DO YOU KNOW WHERE HE WENT, CODY? I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM ALL MORNING.”
Ears ringing, Cody waved Murray back to his headphones and headed for the salon. The coffee pot was still warm but the keys to the Jimmy were gone from their hook. That in itself was strange; there was nothing wrong with the Vette to Cody’s knowledge, and Nick never drove the Jimmy if he could help it, said it handled like a bull in a china shop
Frowning, Cody helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat down to wait, wondering not for the first time just what a bull in a china shop might handle like. Or how you got one through the door. “Or even how you’d get the saddle on,” he muttered.
It was three cups of coffee before Nick returned.
He hung the Jimmy keys back on the hook with his back to Cody, then quickly stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Hey.”
Cody raised his eyebrows. “Hey yourself. Where’ve you been?”
“What are you, my mother? I went out.”
“Just ‘out’, Nick?”
“Yeah just out, okay?” Nick started toward the coffee pot then seemed to change his mind, turning and heading over to the far side of the salon, hands still stuffed in his pockets.
Cody frowned.
“Hey, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Go right ahead,” Cody said softly.
Nick turned and jogged down the stairs to their stateroom.
Cody waited until he heard the water run, then got up and went after him. Nick Ryder was nothing if not a creature of habit. Cody went through the pockets of Nick’s jeans methodically, with a focus born of long practice. He found the receipt from the nursery in Nick’s right back pocket, crumpled and stained with potting soil.
Nick looked over as Cody opened the door to the tiny shower cubicle. Water fitzed and spat off Nick’s skin, hitting Cody with light sprinkles. Particles of soil circled the drain.
Cody tossed the receipt on the counter and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. “You sly dog, you.” He pulled his t-shirt over his head. “Just ‘out’, huh?”
Nick didn’t say anything, just stood under the water and watched Cody carefully.
Cody unbuttoned his shorts and let them slide down his legs. “Let me guess: she grew all those peppers from seed? Three different kinds?”
Nick looked away. “Four.”
Cody slipped his briefs down over his hips and shimmied them to the floor. He stepped inside the shower next to Nick, nearly on top of him, and closed the door behind them. “Don’t go out again just yet,” he said, voice echoing off the fiberglass. With a grin, he pushed up against Nick’s wet body, and proceeded to get them both thoroughly dirty.
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