Arses and Associated Imagery - L/M - PG-13
Title: Arses and Associated Imagery
Author: shocolate
Pairing: Luke/Malachy
Words: 2093
Rating: PG-13
Warning : actual SPOILERS for Cherrybomb, not just speculation, early in the fic.

So.

Jinx.

I finally managed to get them together.

This is for emmacmf, for coming to see the film with me and squeaking in all the right places.

Fandom total : 5 people.


Arses and Associated Imagery
****
Luke looked out of the window above the kitchen sink and watched the dark clouds making shapes against the outline of the mountains.

No bars on the window.

No wire around the gate at the end of the front path.

"Is that wise?" the pinched bitch on his Parole Board had asked.

"It's a permanent address," the bleeding heart liberal beside her had said, gazing into the middle distance, as if at the Holy Grail. "Mr McKinney is more than happy for him to stay. Indefinitely."

Malachy McKinney, pillar of the community, college education, job on the Telegraph and a flat in a used to be trendy just a couple of years ago development.

"Mightn't a completely fresh start be more the thing?" the bitch had wondered, taking off her spectacles and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Considering Mr McKinney's… involvement in the case."

Bleeding heart liberal had opened the case file at the list of Visiting Orders issued over the years.

Malachy's was the only name on the list.

So, here he was, in Malachy's flat, where he'd made his bed and Malachy's breakfast and seen him off to work, like a good little wife. He sighed heavily and upturned the last mug on the draining board, patting its arse fondly; Malachy was the most patient of men, but he'd want him out, soon enough.

An ex-jailbird, ex-best mate was obviously cramping his style with the birds; he'd not brought anyone home since Luke'd moved in. He claimed he enjoyed coming home to Luke and a curry.

Like fuck he was.

He had money in his pocket and gentle eyes behind a floppy, red fringe and a wardrobe full of crisply ironed shirts.

And a life.

Luke would never, ever resent Malachy having a life; he'd made sure he got one, after all, hadn't he?

He'd hung on his every word, each visit, and been so proud of his successes; he'd been the one who'd made sure Malachy had girls and booze and parties and could scribble away, late into the night, on his fucking essays, with no screws turning a blind eye as he was beaten.

He'd seen Malachy being beaten; he'd stopped it.

It was worth it.

But Malachy had moved on; Malachy had had relationships. Malachy had probably had proper sex, with grown up women. Malachy had probably even made sure they came first.

Malachy had never hoarded and traded quarter smokes.

Luke would never, ever resent it, but it made it impossible to accept Malachy's carefully casual invitations for a drink with the lads. The lads didn't smoke a fag down to the last lungful, the lads hadn't the alcohol tolerance of a five-year-old.

Luke didn't want to have to explain himself to the lads.

So, Luke only left the flat to sign on or see his parole officer.

Or, on Wednesday afternoons, when Mrs McKinney came over to iron Malachy's shirts.

And Malachy came home from work, all half unknotted tie, or Malachy came home from a drink with the lads, all flushed and smelling of smoke and whiskey.

And there wasn’t a prison wall between them, anymore. And there wasn't a life debt, or anything stupid like that. There almost certainly, almost completely wasn't.

But Malachy couldn't actually want him there, indefinitely.

He should take his handful of ancient GCSEs and his prison NVQ in Food Preparation and do something more than make Malachy's breakfast.

So.

New leaf.

He showered and shaved and hacked at his verruca and limped out to the corner shop.

His cell mate had sworn that a verruca lasted as long as the stretch you were serving when you picked it up; that if you hadn't got rid of it by the time you were next banged up, you were officially a career criminal.

Luke swore he'd defeat the effing thing and stay out of prison.

New leaf.

When Malachy returned from work, he stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, head cocked, eyebrows raised.

"Something smells good," he remarked, nodding at the oven he hadn't used in eighteen months in the flat.

The clock had even stopped flashing four zeroes at him.

"NVQ in Food Preparation from the School of Hospitality and Tourism," Luke said, smirking. "Sure Tourism's just the thing to be studying, behind bars."

"Your NVQ smells great," Malachy said firmly, sitting opposite him at the small table and frowning at the local paper, spread out between them. "What's this?"

Luke flicked back a couple of pages.

"Job ads," he said calmly. "Reckon I'd be any good in double glazing?"

"Like… trapped between two panes?" Malachy asked. "Reckon that'd suit you."

"I'm already trapped between two pains," Luke sighed. "My heart aches so, and my cock…"

Malachy snorted, but, undistracted, pulled the paper from Luke's hands and leafed back to the page he'd seen when he came in.

"What's this?" he repeated, tapping the circled and crossed out ads.

"Rooms," Luke admitted.

"You have a room," Malachy said quietly.

"Yeah, but…" Luke shrugged. "You… need it, yeah?"

"I need it for my mate to sleep in," Malachy said. "Before that, it was full of clean laundry."

"Yeah, but…"

"Why d'you think I need it?" Malachy asked. "I'm not kicking you out."

"You might… need somewhere for twin two to wait," Luke suggested, "while you bang her sister."

Malachy laughed and shook his head. "You're welcome to my spare room," he said, "and to bang twin number two. What's mine is yours, yeah?"

"But I'm a big boy, Mal, I should be by myself."

"You…" Malachy swallowed and looked out the kitchen window, watching the sun setting behind the mountains. "You want to be alone, and… um, free, and all that, yeah? I don't want to keep you here, against your will, you know. I'd never."

"No," Luke admitted. "I don't want to be… alone."

"D'you like it here?" Malachy asked. "What could I change?"

"Fuck, Mal, nothing," Luke protested. "I'm just under your feet."

"But your Parole…"

"I need an address," Luke interrupted. "If I had a job and a room…"

"I missed you," Malachy said quietly. "When you were…" He nodded vaguely towards the window. "I like seeing you every day; coming home to you."

"Like a good little wife," Luke suggested.

"It's not nice coming home to an empty place," Malachy said. "I like having you here. Honest. But if you'd rather…"

"I wouldn't rather anything," Luke huffed. "Except see you get yer leg over."

Malachy's eyebrows rose. "See me…"

"Not watch you, you perv," Luke protested. "Just that you haven't, since I moved in, and that's ridiculous. Bring home some birds I can make my legendary cooked breakfasts for."

Malachy shrugged uncomfortably and fiddled with the biro that had circled the unsuitable rooms in filthy boarding houses in the local paper.

"S'not that I'm not getting any," he said slowly. "It's just I haven't brought anyone home."

"'Cos of me," Luke said flatly.

"Not entirely," Malachy said. "I… when I ask you to come out and meet the lads…"

"Yer on the pull, I get it," Luke said. "I may not have seen many women, recently, 'cept those on my Parole Board and those visiting and flashing large tattoed shoulders at their old man, but I do know what 'the lads' get up to."

"Not these lads," Malachy muttered.

"You have some special technique?" Luke mocked. "Something new, since I went inside?"

"We have… more cock than most," Malachy admitted.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Luke snorted. "A club for blokes with two dicks? For those with ten inches?" 'Cos I've seen yer equipment, Malachy, old son, and you're… respectably endowed… but not more cock than most."

Malachy sighed and ran his hands roughly through his hair.

"When I go out with the lads," he said quietly. "And I pull… and I get my leg over… and I don't bring anyone home… I pull one of the lads, Luke. Two cocks… more than most… two cocks, no waiting, yeah?"

Luke blinked at him.

"And I haven't known how to tell you," Malachy went on, "and I know asking you to come out and meet the lads was ridiculous, because then you'd be in the middle of Union Street when you freak out…"

"I'm not freaking out," Luke interrupted.

Malachy shrugged hopelessly.

"Since when?" Luke asked.

"Since… since always, I suppose," Malachy admitted.

"But girls, Malachy… How many girls have you fucked?" Luke demanded.

"You know how many." Malachy sighed. "I told you about them all. There's been no more since… Michelle…"

"Most girls' old fellas don’t try to kill you," Luke pointed out.

"That's really not why," Malachy said. "I just didn't have to; without you there, I didn't have to…"

"Pretend." Luke finished his sentence for him.

"Didn't have to try," Malachy said firmly. "I just worked hard and no one ever asked about girls. You didn't, either."

"I didn't need a hard on during visiting time, from you describing your conquests," Luke protested. "I thought you were being… considerate, not rubbing my nose in things."

"Not rubbing much of anything, really," Malachy said. "Not until I got my own place."

"And now it's just blokes?" Luke asked.

"Yeah," Malachy said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise to me," Luke spluttered. "It's not my business where you put your cock."

Malachy half smiled. "But you really don't want all the details, anymore," he pointed out.

Luke frowned.

"Yeah," he said. "Well, no."

"What does that mean?" Malachy asked.

"I never wanted the filthy details so I could picture some tart," he said. "I wanted them because it's… you. Because you're my best mate and you were happy and you'd pretend you're too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell, but you'd be dying to tell me. I've missed that."

"I can't imagine you coping with some of the… imagery," Malachy said.

Luke snorted. "You used to be the one scared of arses and associated imagery," he said.

"I did not want to know some tart had accessed your arse," Malachy protested.

There was a ringing silence.

"Jealous?" Luke asked quietly.

"I don't need some bird's finger up my arse," Malachy said casually, standing up from the table.

Luke caught his wrist.

"Not jealous of me," he said.

Malachy closed his eyes and breathed hard, the heat from Luke's fingers branding the delicate skin covering his flickering pulse point.

"I've said too much," he whispered. "I'm not gonna say anything more."

"We used to mess around together," Luke said, his fingertips moving in tiny circles.

"Wanking together, when we were fourteen," Malachy scoffed.

"Did you know then?" Luke asked.

Malachy looked down at their hands.

"I knew," he said.

"You never said."

"Ah, Luke," Malachy said, "and how would that have gone, at fourteen? Think of yourself at fourteen, living with Chris and your dad; how would I have explained what I… felt?"

"I might've surprised you," Luke said.

Malachy tried to pull his hand away, but only succeeded in pulling Luke to his feet.

"Stop it," Malachy whispered. "Please."

"I'm serious," Luke said. "Did you miss the part where I wanked with you?"

"Luke," Malachy protested.

"And I've recently flourished in an all male society," Luke smirked.

"This isn’t a joke," Malachy said.

"Did you miss the part where I'm here, taking care of you?" Luke said quietly, leaning down and pressing an awkward kiss to Malachy's stubbly cheek.

Malachy narrowed his eyes, his breathing speeding up as he looked up at his friend.

His best friend.

"You don't have to…" he whispered.

"I want to," Luke interrupted, tugging suddenly on Malachy's wrist and making him stumble against him, all bony shoulders and slim hips knocking together. "I want to, you tart."

"No, you don't," Malachy said weakly, turning his head away and gasping as Luke bent and nuzzled his neck. "You don't have to… offer yourself, just because I…"

"I'm not offering to snog you, just because you like boys. I'm offering because you're you. My mate."

"Doesn't mean we have to mate," Malachy murmured, as Luke stepped closer.

"You reckon I'm offering to pay for my room and board in trade?" Luke laughed.

"No," Malachy protested swiftly.

"Can't we just try this," Luke said, wrapping his arms around Malachy's shoulders, "and see how we go?"

"OK," Malachy whispered, resting his head on Luke's shoulder and letting the tension leave his body. "I… I'd like that."

"And if we get as far as offering you my fantastic body in trade… mate's rates, I promise."