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fandomweekly2021-10-31 12:37 pm
topaz_eyes) wrote in fandomweekly2021-10-31 12:37 pm
Entry tags:
[#113] What Makes A Bonfire (Emergency!)
Theme Prompt: #113 - Bonfire
Title: What Makes A Bonfire
Fandom: Emergency!
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 999
Summary: Sometimes Roy simply cannot comprehend what passes through his partner’s mind.
“Another stick on the bonfire before we turn in, pally?”
Roy looks up from contemplating his rapidly cooling cup of coffee. “I wouldn’t call this a bonfire, Johnny,” Roy says, affectionate if wry. The flame is near invisible from twenty feet away, just large enough to boil the last pot of water for the evening. It scarcely throws out enough heat to warm his front; his backside is cold, almost numb from sitting on the log.
But they keep it small and contained, because it’s August, and fire season, and it really wouldn’t look good if two careless firefighter-paramedics burnt down an entire forest just to enjoy a roaring campfire.
“Sure it’s a bonfire, if you want it to be,” Johnny says, “you just gotta think about it creatively.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sometimes Roy simply cannot comprehend what passes through his partner’s mind. “It’s not a bonfire, it’s barely more than a candle.”
Johnny cheerfully ignores him. “It’s not the size of the fire, Roy. It’s the heat and light and sound that count. That’s your problem here, you’re not paying attention.”
“What are you even talking about?” Roy asks, still not following Johnny’s train of thought. Which is not unusual, even when he does his best to keep up.
“Just listen, will ya?” Johnny adds a medium-sized stick to their fire then leans forward in his seat, peering intently.
Roy leans forward too, wondering what Johnny wants him to hear. Most times he doesn’t find the sound of fire appealing at all. Not when they’re fighting one. Not when they’re risking their lives to save people from its fury. Since they’re doing neither right now, Roy decides to try for Johnny’s sake.
The fuel crackles, a low whoosh of air powering the flame that eagerly laps and bites at the wood pyramid. (Johnny builds efficient, excellent fires.) Sap whistles in a pocket of green wood, rising in pitch until it crescendos in a small explosion of sparks when Johnny takes another stick to poke the burning branch. Both follow the trails of bright orange ash with their eyes, ready to leap and stamp them out if needed, but they all extinguish themselves as they drift back to earth.
“Beautiful,” Johnny says softly. “Now wasn’t that just beautiful? That’s what music sounds like.”
Music? “If you say so,” Roy replies. He’s not poetic or imaginative at all, not attuned to things the way Johnny is, though he’s learning. “It did sound pretty nice,” he adds quickly, because there was a rush to it that he hadn’t considered before.
Or maybe it’s Johnny that makes him feel like that. As long as Johnny keeps beaming at him like he’s doing right now, he’s fine either way.
They sit in companionable silence, lost in their own thoughts for awhile as the fire diminishes. They’d hiked in today, because the best time for trout fishing in the nearby mountain stream is just after sunrise. But Roy wonders if that was a smart decision in hindsight, because –
“The weather forecast said tonight’s s’posed to drop below freezing,” Johnny says as if reading Roy’s mind.
“I can believe it.” Roy shivers at an alpine breeze against his back. “Should zip our sleeping bags together so we don’t get hypothermia.”
A beat passes before Johnny asks innocently, “Don’tcha think we’ll overheat if we do that?” Roy looks up just in time to catch Johnny’s eyebrows waggle, through the shadows that flicker across his face.
“Wha—? You--I--you’re--” Roy points his finger at him, splutters until he finally blurts out, “You’re incorrigible, do you know that?”
Johnny shrugs with a knowing grin, hands spread wide. “That’s why you love me, Roy.” He pokes at the fire again, breaks up the embers in preparation to extinguish it.
Roy can’t argue. He’ll always cherish the memory of when that impossible mix of heat, light, and sound named John Gage walked into the paramedic recruitment room and changed his life forever.
“You got the fire there, Johnny?” Roy asks. “I’ll get the inside of the tent set up.”
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” Johnny replies. Roy rises, and stands, limbering up for the brief hike into their tent.
Once there, Roy removes his boots in the vestibule, crawls into the body, finds and zips their matching bags together by flashlight; then slips in between to undress and warm up the cold fabric. He listens contentedly to Johnny’s familiar, crunching footsteps around the fire pit, the hiss of water poured to douse the embers, the scratch of dirt to confirm they’re out. Minutes later, Johnny’s sitting at the entrance, door flaps wide open, unlacing his boots before he slides in backwards, already shimmying out of his clothes.
“Zip up the doors,” Roy warns, “you’re letting the cold air in.”
“I was getting to it,” Johnny protests, and does so while Roy unzips the bag enough to allow him inside.
“Hey, what the--? Your feet are freezing,” Roy complains as Johnny lands his icy toes on Roy’s calves.
“Well then, I’m mighty lucky that I got you to warm them up,” Johnny deadpans.
“You know, I can always boot you outside again,” Roy grumbles, “let you sleep under the stars.”
“You won’t do that to me, pally,” Johnny says, and Roy concedes the point with a sigh and shake of his head. He still flinches as Johnny gleefully presses both feet against his legs and outright cackles. Roy zips up the bag around them with a long-suffering huff.
Roy switches off the flashlight and lies back down, reaching out. Johnny immediately scoots over to settle on top of him. It’s completely dark in the tent, but Roy swears he can see Johnny smirk above him.
“Hi,” Johnny says, a little breathless.
“Hi yourself,” Roy murmurs, full of fondness and heat.
Roy pulls Johnny down towards him until their lips meet; he arches against Johnny, and yeah, they’re going to have themselves that bonfire after all.
Title: What Makes A Bonfire
Fandom: Emergency!
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 999
Summary: Sometimes Roy simply cannot comprehend what passes through his partner’s mind.
“Another stick on the bonfire before we turn in, pally?”
Roy looks up from contemplating his rapidly cooling cup of coffee. “I wouldn’t call this a bonfire, Johnny,” Roy says, affectionate if wry. The flame is near invisible from twenty feet away, just large enough to boil the last pot of water for the evening. It scarcely throws out enough heat to warm his front; his backside is cold, almost numb from sitting on the log.
But they keep it small and contained, because it’s August, and fire season, and it really wouldn’t look good if two careless firefighter-paramedics burnt down an entire forest just to enjoy a roaring campfire.
“Sure it’s a bonfire, if you want it to be,” Johnny says, “you just gotta think about it creatively.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sometimes Roy simply cannot comprehend what passes through his partner’s mind. “It’s not a bonfire, it’s barely more than a candle.”
Johnny cheerfully ignores him. “It’s not the size of the fire, Roy. It’s the heat and light and sound that count. That’s your problem here, you’re not paying attention.”
“What are you even talking about?” Roy asks, still not following Johnny’s train of thought. Which is not unusual, even when he does his best to keep up.
“Just listen, will ya?” Johnny adds a medium-sized stick to their fire then leans forward in his seat, peering intently.
Roy leans forward too, wondering what Johnny wants him to hear. Most times he doesn’t find the sound of fire appealing at all. Not when they’re fighting one. Not when they’re risking their lives to save people from its fury. Since they’re doing neither right now, Roy decides to try for Johnny’s sake.
The fuel crackles, a low whoosh of air powering the flame that eagerly laps and bites at the wood pyramid. (Johnny builds efficient, excellent fires.) Sap whistles in a pocket of green wood, rising in pitch until it crescendos in a small explosion of sparks when Johnny takes another stick to poke the burning branch. Both follow the trails of bright orange ash with their eyes, ready to leap and stamp them out if needed, but they all extinguish themselves as they drift back to earth.
“Beautiful,” Johnny says softly. “Now wasn’t that just beautiful? That’s what music sounds like.”
Music? “If you say so,” Roy replies. He’s not poetic or imaginative at all, not attuned to things the way Johnny is, though he’s learning. “It did sound pretty nice,” he adds quickly, because there was a rush to it that he hadn’t considered before.
Or maybe it’s Johnny that makes him feel like that. As long as Johnny keeps beaming at him like he’s doing right now, he’s fine either way.
They sit in companionable silence, lost in their own thoughts for awhile as the fire diminishes. They’d hiked in today, because the best time for trout fishing in the nearby mountain stream is just after sunrise. But Roy wonders if that was a smart decision in hindsight, because –
“The weather forecast said tonight’s s’posed to drop below freezing,” Johnny says as if reading Roy’s mind.
“I can believe it.” Roy shivers at an alpine breeze against his back. “Should zip our sleeping bags together so we don’t get hypothermia.”
A beat passes before Johnny asks innocently, “Don’tcha think we’ll overheat if we do that?” Roy looks up just in time to catch Johnny’s eyebrows waggle, through the shadows that flicker across his face.
“Wha—? You--I--you’re--” Roy points his finger at him, splutters until he finally blurts out, “You’re incorrigible, do you know that?”
Johnny shrugs with a knowing grin, hands spread wide. “That’s why you love me, Roy.” He pokes at the fire again, breaks up the embers in preparation to extinguish it.
Roy can’t argue. He’ll always cherish the memory of when that impossible mix of heat, light, and sound named John Gage walked into the paramedic recruitment room and changed his life forever.
“You got the fire there, Johnny?” Roy asks. “I’ll get the inside of the tent set up.”
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” Johnny replies. Roy rises, and stands, limbering up for the brief hike into their tent.
Once there, Roy removes his boots in the vestibule, crawls into the body, finds and zips their matching bags together by flashlight; then slips in between to undress and warm up the cold fabric. He listens contentedly to Johnny’s familiar, crunching footsteps around the fire pit, the hiss of water poured to douse the embers, the scratch of dirt to confirm they’re out. Minutes later, Johnny’s sitting at the entrance, door flaps wide open, unlacing his boots before he slides in backwards, already shimmying out of his clothes.
“Zip up the doors,” Roy warns, “you’re letting the cold air in.”
“I was getting to it,” Johnny protests, and does so while Roy unzips the bag enough to allow him inside.
“Hey, what the--? Your feet are freezing,” Roy complains as Johnny lands his icy toes on Roy’s calves.
“Well then, I’m mighty lucky that I got you to warm them up,” Johnny deadpans.
“You know, I can always boot you outside again,” Roy grumbles, “let you sleep under the stars.”
“You won’t do that to me, pally,” Johnny says, and Roy concedes the point with a sigh and shake of his head. He still flinches as Johnny gleefully presses both feet against his legs and outright cackles. Roy zips up the bag around them with a long-suffering huff.
Roy switches off the flashlight and lies back down, reaching out. Johnny immediately scoots over to settle on top of him. It’s completely dark in the tent, but Roy swears he can see Johnny smirk above him.
“Hi,” Johnny says, a little breathless.
“Hi yourself,” Roy murmurs, full of fondness and heat.
Roy pulls Johnny down towards him until their lips meet; he arches against Johnny, and yeah, they’re going to have themselves that bonfire after all.
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