Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Scott caught sight of the glow beneath Alan's bedroom door and sighed silently. Eleven pm wasn't late by his standards, but for a ten year old it was far too late to still be up. Not for the first time, he considered removing the games consoles from his room and reinforcing the old room of games in the den only, but that was not an argument to be having with an overtired ten year old right now.

Knocking on the door as a warning, he nudged it open. The room was a glowing red – red lamp shades throwing the whole room into Alan's favourite colour, as though the walls and covers weren't also red. Scott knew that Virgil was despairing about the colour scheme and hoped that Alan would grow out of his incessant need for red everything as he got older.

Considering Thunderbird Three was red, and Alan had had his eyes on that rocket since Dad first showed him International Rescue, Scott didn't see the obsession dying down any time soon.

He could understand Virgil's despair, though. Red was a very overpowering colour when it was the only colour. Scott didn't have to be an artist to know his eyeballs were being assaulted every time he entered his youngest brother's bedroom.

In his red pyjamas, Alan was laying stomach-down on his red plush rug, legs up in the air and kicking back and forth lazily. Blue eyes, although they looked more purple as they reflected the tinted light emitting from the wall lamps, looked at him as he entered, widening a little as though their owner hadn't expected the interruption, before narrowing into a look that Scott knew all too well.

Alan was scheming.

Eleven at night was far too late for preteen schemes, so Scott elected to ignore the warning signs as he strode into the room.

"C'mon, Alan," he said, reaching the rug and crossing his arms. "Bed time."

Alan promptly put his head down on his folded arms and looked up at him challengingly.

"I'm in bed."

Scott glanced up at the fully-made bed, complete with red comforter and pillow, deliberately and raised an eyebrow. "No, you're not. Up you get, Alan. Your bed is behind you."

Red-tinted blue eyes met his challengingly.

"Make me."

Scott's shoulders slumped and he sighed again. He shouldn't cave, he knew that. He was hardly a parent, but he had his own memories of how Mom had treated him and John when they were Alan's age, and more recent examples of parenting from Grandma stepping up, and neither woman ever let them get their own way every time.

"Aren't you too old for that game?" he asked, parroting an oft-heard phrase from his childhood, but his feet were taking him forward without permission and his knees were bending down even as Alan shook his head with a little devil grin on his face.

The kid had him and they both knew it.

"Up," he insisted, hooking his hands underneath Alan's armpits and pulling, fully expecting the usual trick of deadweight child as his brother threw everything he had into making himself as awkward as possible to pick up in what seemed to be every child's favourite game at some point or other.

Scott knew he'd done it when feeling particularly petty, even if he'd normally loved being picked up. Grandma liked to point out even now that he'd always loved being in the air. Alan was similar… except at bed time.

The expected resistance was absent, and Scott almost overbalanced as Alan peeled away from the rug easily, only to grip hold of him tight enough to be one of those things that stuck firmly to rocks at low tide – barnacles, if his hours beachcombing with Gordon had taught him anything.

Or just a limpet. That worked, too.

"Right," he told the bundle clinging to him, adjusting his grip to make sure he wasn't going to drop him for the few moments he had him in the air, "bed time for you."

The resistance came when he set Alan down on the bed and his brother refused to let go.

"Alan," he said warningly, only to get a wide grin, complete with scrunched up eyes.

"Scott!" the limpet parroted.

"It's bed time for you, kid," he tried, shifting his grip so he could start peeling clinging fingers away from his t-shirt. Every time he got one away, another returned. "Alan." His voice slipped into a slightly deeper, marginally demanding, register. "Let go."

"Make me," came the cheeky response. Definitely tired.

"Alan, it's time you went to bed," he said, turning around and sitting down on the bed so that he had both hands free to pry his brother off of him.

Alan lashed out with a foot, kicking the mattress by Scott's legs, at the same moment he lunged his weight forward, and Scott found himself on his back on Alan's bed, with the ten year old in question sprawled on his chest.

"In bed," the blond said smugly. "Night, Scotty."

"Uh, no, Alan," he corrected. "You're on your bed, not in it. In fact, you're on me, not your bed."

"Same thing."

"No, no it's not," Scott sighed, sensing a losing argument and not even bothering to get started. John could correct Alan on idioms tomorrow. "Come on."

With a heave – ten year olds could be heavy if they were on just the wrong spot – he rolled over onto his side, so that Alan was less on him, and more on the bed where he should be.

The limpet still didn't let go, and now one of Scott's arms was trapped awkwardly beneath him, so he had one less hand to try and pry the stubborn child off with.

At this point, it was starting to feel not worth it, even if the Grandma in the back of his head was telling him he shouldn't let Alan have his way.

Was there really any long term harm to giving in for one night? The level of red in his vision was obnoxious to his retinas, true, but if he closed his eyes he wouldn't have to see that – as long as he turned out the lights so the red glow didn't permeate through his eyelids – and, really, Scott could see no other downsides to waiting until Alan fell asleep before wriggling loose.

No downsides except the fact that Alan's grip didn't loosen at all even after he finally fell asleep, leaving Scott with the decision of attempting to get free but risking waking his brother and going through the whole rigmarole again, or giving in and staying where he was for the night, even if it was a bit earlier than he usually went to bed.

The idea of an overtired temper tantrum if Alan woke up made it an easy decision, and Scott let his head rest against the too-red pillow again, waving one hand to turn off the lights so he didn't have to put up with the colour any more before wrapping the arm around his youngest brother.

Tomorrow, he promised the tutting grandmother in his head, he'd make Virgil put Alan to bed. Or John. John was probably the best bet, thinking on it more. Virgil was enough of a hugger in his own right that Alan wouldn't even need to resort to trickery.

But that was a problem for tomorrow's Scott. Tonight's Scott was going to pull the comforter up over the pair of them and get an early night for a change.

Fluffember/fluff&fun day two, using both prompts "cuddles" and "rug". Been a little while since I last wrote anything for this duo, but this was the prompt interpretation that jumped out at me after some musing, so this was how I took it! This is pre-series, but a little while post-Zero-X, with Alan aged 10 and Scott aged 22.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari