Teeth of the Problem
"Oi, you're not still mad at me, are you?"
There was no answer, not so much as a single vile curse word, which in itself was worrying; it presaged violence to come. "Come on. You can't be!"
The seething presence turned a feral eye and glared. "Oh, can't I?"
Bodie flinched despite himself, and would have taken a step away from his partner...but for their current circumstances. He forced a jovial expression. "Come on, sunshine, have a heart. I didn't do it on purpose." A derisive snort ensued. "Do you think I planned this?"
"I would not," Ray said icily, "Put it past you."
"What? Here now -- I didn't plan it, and I damn well didn't tell you to stand so close when we were...done."
"Oh, didn't you?" Ray was quivering with exasperation; to Bodie it looked like every hair on his head was dancing to its own staccato rhythm. Fascinating. "Stop bloody staring at me!" Ray exploded, noticing Bodie's rapt attention.
"Well, it's not as if I can stop looking at you, can I?" He laced his voice with sarcasm, which did not go unnoticed.
"Dammit, Bodie! You're the one who's always standing closer to me than me own shadow, and now you've gone too far. I've been zipping meself since I was old enough to stand up to pee, and you have to go and put your hand in, literally, and--"
"I'll tell you one last time, Ray. It's. Not. My. Fault. The. Zipper's. Stuck!"
"Yeah, not your fault, is it? Never your fault. Like the time we nearly got caught doing it on Cowley's desk, that was your idea too, remember? Or when you thought we should have a snog on that warehouse roof and it caved--"
"And if you didn't wear your trousers tight as a coat of paint, they'd zip up normal-like, wouldn't they? Just because I happened to try to give you a hand getting them up--"
"Like you gave me a hand getting it up, you mean?"
Bodie paused. Was that the beginning of a crinkle at the corner of Doyle's eyes? "Yeah, well, that's safer, evidently." He risked a leer. "And more fun."
"So it is." Ray sighed, and Bodie cheered up immeasurably. Clearly the storm was over. "So," Ray said, "What in hell are we going to do about... this?"
Bodie looked down to where the fabric of his pants was caught in Doyle's zipper, welding their groins together. "I don't know, Ray, but 'snice, innit? Come on; admit it."
"Well," Ray said, "Maybe just a little." He rocked forward a bit, and Bodie felt warm flesh through the several layers of denim. "Maybe more than a little."
"Why, it's not that little, Ray," Bodie said smugly. "Don't be modest."
"I'll give you little," Doyle said darkly, "Except I bloody can't, can I, because you broke the bloody zipper!"
-- THE END --
July 26, 2004
NOTE: This was written in response to Justacat's request for a story featuring the line, "It's not my fault the zipper's stuck." Apologies for the Americanism.