![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cmk418So there's another round of Bingo going on over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
1_million_words and one of the prompts was for whump!fic. Not knowing what it was I asked and it turns out I have half a NaNo novel based on it and we write this stuff for OZ all of the time. Basically, you beat up on your favorite character.
I may have taken that literally here. Also part of the Murphy-is-a-closet-dom ongoing series.
“How ‘bout it?” Tim asked, angling his head toward the boxing ring.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Tim was already climbing under the ropes and putting on gloves.
“Stop.”
“Aw, come on.”
“All right, but you’ve got to put on a helmet and a mouthguard. Same protection as the inmates.”
“Yes, mom.”
This is such a bad idea, Sean thought, outfitting himself as he got into the ring.
“I wish we had one of those girls down here that could ring the bell. That new secretary of Leo’s seemed nice.”
Punch.
“Hey! I wasn’t ready.” Tim got himself into a fighting stance as Sean waited. He threw a jab at Sean’s chest.
Sean was in the zone now. Tim shouldn’t have brought up Leo’s secretary because that just sent Sean down a rabbit hole, thinking about Tim’s disastrous relationships with women.
Diane. Punch.
Gloria. Punch.
Howell. Punch.
That girl at the coffee shop that Tim had smiled at last week. Sean took another swing and hit air.
Tim was on the mat, one hand in front of his face as a shield, the other outstretched toward Sean.
“Aw, hell,” Sean said, pulling Tim up.
“That was fast.”
“I warned you, buddy. Let’s get you home and fixed up.”
“I can drive myself.”
Sean shook his head. “That eye’s gonna swell shut before you get halfway home. Let me take care of you.”
“You’ve done enough, thanks.”
“I’ve got good whiskey and Ma sent me home with half an apple pie after dinner last night.”
“Throw in dinner and I’m all yours,” Tim said.
“Deal.”
Sean gently lifted the helmet from Tim’s head. In addition to the shiner, Tim had a nasty bruise developing on his left cheekbone that Sean’s fingers itched to touch. “You look like shit, my friend.”
“You should see the- damn it, Sean, did I even hit you at all?”
“Jab to the stomach. I should really teach you how to box.”
“If you think I’m getting into the ring with you again, you’re delusional.”
“Maybe just a little bit punch-drunk,” Sean said. He gave into temptation and pressed his fingers against the bruise on Tim’s cheek. Tim’s sharp intake of breath was a sweet sound. Sean smiled. He was glad he didn’t pull his punches. He liked the way that Tim looked with Sean’s marks on him.
He wouldn’t have minded marking Tim in other ways but this would have to do for now.
1_million_words and one of the prompts was for whump!fic. Not knowing what it was I asked and it turns out I have half a NaNo novel based on it and we write this stuff for OZ all of the time. Basically, you beat up on your favorite character.I may have taken that literally here. Also part of the Murphy-is-a-closet-dom ongoing series.
“How ‘bout it?” Tim asked, angling his head toward the boxing ring.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Tim was already climbing under the ropes and putting on gloves.
“Stop.”
“Aw, come on.”
“All right, but you’ve got to put on a helmet and a mouthguard. Same protection as the inmates.”
“Yes, mom.”
This is such a bad idea, Sean thought, outfitting himself as he got into the ring.
“I wish we had one of those girls down here that could ring the bell. That new secretary of Leo’s seemed nice.”
Punch.
“Hey! I wasn’t ready.” Tim got himself into a fighting stance as Sean waited. He threw a jab at Sean’s chest.
Sean was in the zone now. Tim shouldn’t have brought up Leo’s secretary because that just sent Sean down a rabbit hole, thinking about Tim’s disastrous relationships with women.
Diane. Punch.
Gloria. Punch.
Howell. Punch.
That girl at the coffee shop that Tim had smiled at last week. Sean took another swing and hit air.
Tim was on the mat, one hand in front of his face as a shield, the other outstretched toward Sean.
“Aw, hell,” Sean said, pulling Tim up.
“That was fast.”
“I warned you, buddy. Let’s get you home and fixed up.”
“I can drive myself.”
Sean shook his head. “That eye’s gonna swell shut before you get halfway home. Let me take care of you.”
“You’ve done enough, thanks.”
“I’ve got good whiskey and Ma sent me home with half an apple pie after dinner last night.”
“Throw in dinner and I’m all yours,” Tim said.
“Deal.”
Sean gently lifted the helmet from Tim’s head. In addition to the shiner, Tim had a nasty bruise developing on his left cheekbone that Sean’s fingers itched to touch. “You look like shit, my friend.”
“You should see the- damn it, Sean, did I even hit you at all?”
“Jab to the stomach. I should really teach you how to box.”
“If you think I’m getting into the ring with you again, you’re delusional.”
“Maybe just a little bit punch-drunk,” Sean said. He gave into temptation and pressed his fingers against the bruise on Tim’s cheek. Tim’s sharp intake of breath was a sweet sound. Sean smiled. He was glad he didn’t pull his punches. He liked the way that Tim looked with Sean’s marks on him.
He wouldn’t have minded marking Tim in other ways but this would have to do for now.
