Mistletoe
Author's Note: This is just a quickly written drabble for the December 'Mistletoe' prompt. I think it moves a little bit too fast.
Disclaimer: I still don't own them.
"I thought you were going to help me set everything up." His voice is nothing short of patronizing.
The blonde turns his gaze from the window and surveys him through narrow azure eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I got a little distracted," he explains half-heartedly before he steps forward and takes a cardboard crate of beer from the detective's calloused hands. "Where do you want this to go?"
He shrugs in an ultimately bored manner and gestures towards a table in the centre of his third floor flat. "There's a few buckets of ice over there, you can just put them in there."
The younger man nods and, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm he busies himself with the current task at hand. They are preparing for Robbie's annual Christmas party, an ordinarily extravagant affair that has much of the extensive guest list talking well into the New Year yet one which the blonde has never been particularly concerned by.
Several minutes of silence pass between the two men, and he has moved on to another monotonous job when the brunette joins him and watches him for a long moment. Neither speaks. They have little patience for the other and, over the years have made it perfectly clear that they are simply colleagues; certainly not friends and to that, Stuart has no objections. He often finds Robbie arrogant and brash with an uncannily quick temper; Robbie finds him with his quiet, easygoing manner to be tedious and uninteresting.
He pauses and tries not to make eye contact with the older man although he can feel him staring.
The brunette clears his throat. "Hey, Stuart, Merry Chr-"
He stops abruptly and it is then that the smaller of the two finally does really look at him. With his ex-wife and teenage son living in Canada, Christmas has become rather hard on him, and it shows in his outward appearance. His dark hair is unkempt and brushes his shirt collar in messy waves. He sees that it has been some time since he has last shaved and his angular jaw is dark with grey stubble, but Robbie is not looking at him.
Sapphire eyes follow the gaze of his colleague and he finds himself sighing in undisguised disdain at his predicament.
"Mistletoe!" Robbie states the obvious and there, hanging awkwardly from the ceiling light, is a plastic sprig.
Soon enough, the inspector is laughing and cajoling him; "I don't like this anymore than you do, but you have to respect the mistletoe."
Stuart catches the skin of his full lower lip between his teeth, a nervous habit, and looks back at Robbie who, despite his laughter and apparent amusement is evidently rather embarrassed, and he smiles uncomfortably as he leans in to meet his lips.
His own lips, slick with saliva brush fleetingly against the older man's chapped lips, and they are quick to pull away before any long buried, undeclared feelings have the chance to claw their way to the surface and take control.
"Merry Christmas, Stuart," Robbie breathes.
Stuart almost smiles. "Merry Christmas, Robbie."