a_little_apocalypse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
a_little_apocalypse) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly2026-04-06 08:58 pm
a_little_apocalypse) wrote in fandomweekly2026-04-06 08:58 pm
Entry tags:
[#295] Offhandedly (Control)
Theme Prompt: #295 - Wishful Thinking
Title: Offhandedly
Fandom: Control
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: No
Word Count: 997
Summary: Trench can be persuaded into relaxation, sometimes.
It wasn't exactly that it took a lot of persuasion to entice Trench out for post-work drinks as much as it was that, Darling had learnt, he had to pick his moments carefully. It was easy to think we're done with work so now there's space to relax, but in practice that was easier said than done; Darling kept long hours that barely matched up with those within Research, let alone outside of it, and Trench--... often had other priorities. Things he'd said he'd do. Promises to keep. The small duties-that-didn't-feel-like-duties maintained to keep the marriage sweet. Conceptually, Darling understood this, but always found himself struck by mild surprise to have his requests met by an apologetic smile and an I can't, not tonight. Sorry.
There was a cadence to it. Darling felt it important not to be too insistent, not to come on too strong; it was a perfectly normal request, the kind of thing that any Bureau employee could casually suggest to their colleague and nobody would think anything of it. Sometimes they'd go for drinks and sometimes the weeks would pass with no space to fit such frivolous activities; Darling wouldn't push the issue. Would let the thought of suggestion ebb and flow within their interactions, until perhaps Trench himself would be the one to make the suggestion - not so much as to make him feel guilt through inaction, but just enough for him to feel like he might have to take the initiative in order to carve some time out for himself amongst all of his other responsibilities. To rest and relax didn't seem like it came easily to him, but Darling liked to think that he at least had some ability to apply logic in a way to make such things seem desirable, to lend importance to the idea of downtime. Stress was a known problem, after all. A tightrope balance for them both; for Trench and his myriad responsibilities, and for Darling to maintain the simultaneous thoughts of this is important and this isn't important at all. Take it or leave it. It doesn't matter.
It did matter, though. Darling would watch Trench as he laughed, enough drinks deep to reduce his inhibitions just that much, and appreciate that they had managed, at least, to come this far. That they could talk like this, drink like this, relax like this. That Trench could relax, and relax around him. Officially speaking, Trench wasn't one to gossip or sow the seeds of discord, but off the record, he could be amenable to Darling drawing out his more understandable frustrations. Others in the department that couldn't leave their ego to the side, clashes of personality with heels dug into the mud. Trench thought it important to be diplomatic in situations such as those, and Darling understood that, but god, sometimes they just--
Darling knew the importance, too, of not betraying a confidence. Trench trusted him with this, trusted him like this, and the way this felt like being swept back and forth towards something that threatened to make itself uncontrollable was Darling's business and Darling's business alone. He couldn't help but notice the warmth of Trench's smile and the way that seemed to reach his eyes in a way it never did while at work and amongst others (and Kate probably saw that all the time, probably, because of course she would, because of course he'd be different with her, and that was understandable, and Darling understood that)--...
It was no great overture to invite Trench back to his apartment - indeed, the act of doing so set internal shutters down around Darling's thoughts, things that couldn't happen regardless of how much either of them had had to drink. And maybe Trench had had too much, too much to send him home when Darling's place was so much closer, and he'd insist on taking the couch, and there might be some drunken back and forth regarding that but it would always be that one of them took Darling's bed and one of them would take the couch and nothing would happen and maybe they'd wake up the worse for wear, and that would be part and parcel of nights taken out on the town. "I'm getting too old for this," Trench would say, laughing. "We're getting too old for this--!"
Darling wondered if there was really such a stringent statute on behaviours like that, for something so simple as going out drinking after work. Maybe when you're married, he'd think. And maybe he was too old to be throwing around the lurching hesitation that felt like something, like a crush or an infatuation or something so teenage and immature and the only times he'd even spoken to Kate were to call her on Trench's behalf, laying the blame at his feet so as to avoid any complication, to reassure her of his safety, he's just had a little too much to drink. Sorry.
Teasing gossip from Trench's lips felt like a small victory, inconsequential secrets that, nonetheless, Darling would hold to his chest. There were other things, too - glossed-over facts from his time before the Bureau, life in the military far from Darling's own experience. Drunk enough to talk of those times, and of times during those times - times with others, and times with other men, and things that didn't count out at sea, or on tour, or if it was only with your hands--
Nothing would happen. Nothing could happen, Darling kept telling himself, on the couch and wide awake. Despite those implications, nothing could happen, and nothing would happen, and he should forget that Trench had ever said anything (but he couldn't, and he'd keep thinking about it, and try to forget in the morning but he couldn't, he couldn't--). He had the phone handset in hand, ready to call Kate once again, and nothing had happened, and there was only the truth to tell her.
Title: Offhandedly
Fandom: Control
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: No
Word Count: 997
Summary: Trench can be persuaded into relaxation, sometimes.
It wasn't exactly that it took a lot of persuasion to entice Trench out for post-work drinks as much as it was that, Darling had learnt, he had to pick his moments carefully. It was easy to think we're done with work so now there's space to relax, but in practice that was easier said than done; Darling kept long hours that barely matched up with those within Research, let alone outside of it, and Trench--... often had other priorities. Things he'd said he'd do. Promises to keep. The small duties-that-didn't-feel-like-duties maintained to keep the marriage sweet. Conceptually, Darling understood this, but always found himself struck by mild surprise to have his requests met by an apologetic smile and an I can't, not tonight. Sorry.
There was a cadence to it. Darling felt it important not to be too insistent, not to come on too strong; it was a perfectly normal request, the kind of thing that any Bureau employee could casually suggest to their colleague and nobody would think anything of it. Sometimes they'd go for drinks and sometimes the weeks would pass with no space to fit such frivolous activities; Darling wouldn't push the issue. Would let the thought of suggestion ebb and flow within their interactions, until perhaps Trench himself would be the one to make the suggestion - not so much as to make him feel guilt through inaction, but just enough for him to feel like he might have to take the initiative in order to carve some time out for himself amongst all of his other responsibilities. To rest and relax didn't seem like it came easily to him, but Darling liked to think that he at least had some ability to apply logic in a way to make such things seem desirable, to lend importance to the idea of downtime. Stress was a known problem, after all. A tightrope balance for them both; for Trench and his myriad responsibilities, and for Darling to maintain the simultaneous thoughts of this is important and this isn't important at all. Take it or leave it. It doesn't matter.
It did matter, though. Darling would watch Trench as he laughed, enough drinks deep to reduce his inhibitions just that much, and appreciate that they had managed, at least, to come this far. That they could talk like this, drink like this, relax like this. That Trench could relax, and relax around him. Officially speaking, Trench wasn't one to gossip or sow the seeds of discord, but off the record, he could be amenable to Darling drawing out his more understandable frustrations. Others in the department that couldn't leave their ego to the side, clashes of personality with heels dug into the mud. Trench thought it important to be diplomatic in situations such as those, and Darling understood that, but god, sometimes they just--
Darling knew the importance, too, of not betraying a confidence. Trench trusted him with this, trusted him like this, and the way this felt like being swept back and forth towards something that threatened to make itself uncontrollable was Darling's business and Darling's business alone. He couldn't help but notice the warmth of Trench's smile and the way that seemed to reach his eyes in a way it never did while at work and amongst others (and Kate probably saw that all the time, probably, because of course she would, because of course he'd be different with her, and that was understandable, and Darling understood that)--...
It was no great overture to invite Trench back to his apartment - indeed, the act of doing so set internal shutters down around Darling's thoughts, things that couldn't happen regardless of how much either of them had had to drink. And maybe Trench had had too much, too much to send him home when Darling's place was so much closer, and he'd insist on taking the couch, and there might be some drunken back and forth regarding that but it would always be that one of them took Darling's bed and one of them would take the couch and nothing would happen and maybe they'd wake up the worse for wear, and that would be part and parcel of nights taken out on the town. "I'm getting too old for this," Trench would say, laughing. "We're getting too old for this--!"
Darling wondered if there was really such a stringent statute on behaviours like that, for something so simple as going out drinking after work. Maybe when you're married, he'd think. And maybe he was too old to be throwing around the lurching hesitation that felt like something, like a crush or an infatuation or something so teenage and immature and the only times he'd even spoken to Kate were to call her on Trench's behalf, laying the blame at his feet so as to avoid any complication, to reassure her of his safety, he's just had a little too much to drink. Sorry.
Teasing gossip from Trench's lips felt like a small victory, inconsequential secrets that, nonetheless, Darling would hold to his chest. There were other things, too - glossed-over facts from his time before the Bureau, life in the military far from Darling's own experience. Drunk enough to talk of those times, and of times during those times - times with others, and times with other men, and things that didn't count out at sea, or on tour, or if it was only with your hands--
Nothing would happen. Nothing could happen, Darling kept telling himself, on the couch and wide awake. Despite those implications, nothing could happen, and nothing would happen, and he should forget that Trench had ever said anything (but he couldn't, and he'd keep thinking about it, and try to forget in the morning but he couldn't, he couldn't--). He had the phone handset in hand, ready to call Kate once again, and nothing had happened, and there was only the truth to tell her.
no subject