Make Yourself Useful250 sighed noisily and fwumped yet another stack of clothes on the counter. A freshly pressed dress shirt stared up at him from the top of the pile, buttons winking in the light. 250 eyed the offending article of clothing before shooting a sharp look at its offending owner. As usual, 300 sat in his favorite armchair, legs crossed, a newspaper open. He looked the picture of a 1950s sitcom father. 250 huffed and crossed his arms behind the counter.Make Yourself Useful in General Fiction More Like This
The newspaper twitched. 300 looked up. "Is something wrong?"
250 frowned. Normally, 300's refusal to help around the house wasn't a real issue - more like something to be thrown in the Scot's face periodically, just to remind him who did the actual work when the day was done. But today, 250 had cleaned the entire house top to bottom: dusting, sweeping, wiping, scrubbing, even vacuuming and mopping; from bedrooms to bathrooms to kitchen to basement. And 250 could have tolerated doing all that by himself - it was, after all, his house, and it ne
Attached"What would you do if I was shot?" 300 asked innocuously.Attached in Romance More Like This
250 stopped, one foot on the staircase, and eyed his partner. It had been a long day of cat and mouse with Niels, and 300 was sprawled on his back across the sofa, lounging. His jacket was open, stylishly framing a long expanse of crisp white shirt. One foot dangled off the edge of the couch to graze the ground. He gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling, head tilted just so.
If 250 didn't know the man so well, he could've believed that this was a genuinely innocent question - mere curiosity. But there was something calculated to way 300 had draped himself across the couch. 250 furrowed his brow, unsure of what sort of game they were playing. "You really have to ask?" he droned, stepping down from the staircase and resting his folded arms on the back of the sofa.
300 shrugged, knitting his hands on top of his stomach. "I was just wondering."
250 cocked an eyebrow. "Why? You plan on getting shot sometime soon?"
"Of course not," 300 sco
Pressure300 dumps 250 on the sidewalk, fumbling for the phone buried somewhere in his jacket pockets. His bloodied fingers skid on the silk lining and bump against his mobile without catching. "Damn it!" Seizing the hem of his pocket, he rips it partway off and digs out the phone.Pressure in Drama More Like This
"300..." 250 attempts, one hand gripping his stomach as he sits up, blood oozing out from between his fingers.
Somehow 300 succeeds at flipping the damn thing open and speed-dialing the police department. Slapping the phone against his ear, he drops to his knees by 250's side. "Put pressure on it," he pleads, pressing his free hand against the gaping hole. "You need more pressure on it."
"300--" 250 repeats, but an officer picks up the call.
"Agent, for the millionth time, this line is for--"
"My partner's been shot," 300 interrupts, the words stumbling off his tongue. "Bleeding from the stomach; please, I need an ambulance."
The cop's shift in tone is immediate. "Where are you both?"
"In front of Gyldensted's recycl