Title: Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You My Lad
Rating: PG
Pairing: Douglas/Martin
Warnings: Surprisingly non smutty? Mating calls, if that matters
Wordcount:
Disclaimer: Well I'm certainly not getting paid for this, so it's just a bit of harmless fun.
Summary: In a world where everyone has a unique mating call, Martin's is inaudible to the (average) human ear. So much so, in fact, nobody's ever heard his call. Enter Douglas.
Original prompt on![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cabinpres_fic available here.
His whole life, the only thing Martin thought his mating call was good for was keeping aggressive dogs at bay. When he was a teenager, he'd had a job delivering papers for a few pounds a week. More than once he'd been charged by a territorial German Shepherd or Blue Heeler, only to call out in panic and send the pooch yipping and whining in the other direction. Handy, but hardly the point of having a mating call.
Adulthood had been lonely, to say the least. Martin didn't get many dates, and after a while he'd stopped bringing up the mating call thing. After the first half dozen or so in his twenties ending in disappointment and, on one unpleasantly memorable occasion, laughter, he'd just sort of...given up. These days, if he got a date, his ridiculous mating call stayed firmly on the list of "Things Never To Talk About Even If All Other Conversation Has Been Exhausted and Date Is Now Horribly Awkward," along with the fact that he flew a plane for free and the fact that he lived in the attic of a student house.
On really bad nights, when the loneliness reached soul-crushing levels and the only other option would be to lie in bed and cry, Martin would call loudly and repeatedly from his room. He didn't really believe anyone would answer, but it was satisfying to send every dog in the neighborhood into paroxysms. And when the students were surly and sleep-deprived the next morning, complaining about the three a.m. canine serenade, well, that was just a bonus. Misery really did love company.
Shortly after his conversation with Douglas about all-boys rafts and such, Martin had a particularly bad week. The dogs in his neighborhood thought the apocalypse must be coming, and the students were ready to start laying out rat poison for the dogs. Not that they would, but it had been mentioned and Martin then proceeded to feel horribly guilty on top of feeling lonely and depressed.
"Martin," Douglas' voice jarred Martin out of his musings on the recent doggy tribulation. "Are you sure you're quite all right? You're looking a bit peaky." They were somewhere over the Irish sea, enjoying a short lull before touching down in Dublin, and Martin was feeling peaky, much less looking it.
"I'm fine," he sighed despondently, checking their altitude for the fourth time in a minute. "Just...it's been a couple of short nights."
"Ah...student parties?" Douglas inquired, looking unconvinced as to his Captain's fine-ness. The lad looked like hell, truth be told, but if he insisted he was all right there wasn't much Douglas could do.
"Something like that," Martin sighed again, and in a fit of dejection, called out forlornly. It was a long, wavering note, sad in his own ears, and up here he didn't even have the dubious satisfaction of inflicting his own misery on any passing animals.
Beside him, Douglas snapped to attention, head swiveling round and ears--figuratively--perked. "Did you hear that?" he demanded, eyes sharp. "It sounded like...bells."
Martin gaped. "B--bell--what?" he stammered, gasping. It couldn't be.
"Yes, bells," Douglas confirmed, cocking his head. "Like a bell choir, you know, or church bells? I couldn't tell, but it's gone now."
"Hang--hang on," Martin gulped, rolled his shoulders back, and called again.
"There it is! God, what is that?" Douglas frowned, moving his head around to try listening from different angles. "It's lovely. Are you sure you can't hear it?"
~*~
"Sit," Douglas' hand on Martin's shoulder was warm and comforting, a port in the storm of Martin's tempestuous emotions. "Martin, breathe. It's fine. We'll figure this out. Good heavens; do I need to get you a paper bag?"
"No," Martin shook his head, immediately regretting it when it only made his dizziness worse. He vaguely remembered stammering something nigh-incoherent to Douglas about dog whistles and mating calls in the flight deck, followed by nearly hyperventilating and possibly some dry heaves, and then begging Douglas to take the landing. "No, I'm--uh, better." By no means fine, but better at least.
A paper cup of tea appeared under Martin's nose and he jumped, skittish. "Steady," Douglas cautioned, pressing the cup into his hand. "Three sugars. You look as if you need it."
"Thanks," Martin gulped half the cup in one go, wincing as it burned all the way down. Douglas sat down across from him, the small cafe table just big enough for him to rest his elbows on and still give Martin room enough to breathe. "Douglas, I am--I'm so sorry," Martin began, staring at the table top. "I didn't mean to do it in the first place...it's just sometimes it's so. I just. Nobody's ever, and now you, and--I'm sorry."
Douglas, ever infuriatingly calm, waited for Martin to finish floundering before stepping in. "Did you know," he began, sipping a steaming cup of his own. "I've never heard a mating call before. Not a one."
Martin frowned, looking fully at Douglas' face for the first time since he'd panicked in the flight deck. "But--but you've been married," he protested. "Three times!"
"I have been indeed," Douglas nodded in equanimity. "But all my wives had two things in common. One, they could hear my call, and two--I never could hear theirs. Not even a peep."
Martin looked fascinated, which was a marked improvement on his frightened-rodent routine. "Is, er, that why...?" he began, biting his lip in chagrin. "I'm sorry, that's--"
"Is that why I've also been divorced three times? No," Douglas finished off his tea, spinning the cup in his hands idly. "There were different issues each time. That was never really a bone of contention, but it is true that all three of my marriages fell apart due to various types of incompatibility. I suppose the, ah, lack of wireless signal could have been an early clue."
"And now--you've heard mine," Martin's tea was long gone, and he was systematically destroying the paper cup while simultaneously paying it no mind whatsoever.
"I have," Douglas nodded, dropping his eyes to his hands. "It's a surprise, I'll admit, but--well, if I'm honest, Martin, it's not really a disappointment."
A flush swept up Martin's neck, starting at his collar and making its way to his hairline in record time. "That's--that's very kind of you, Douglas," he whispered. "But I'd really rather you--nobody's ever been able to before--it's not that I don't believe you can hear it," he pulled in a shuddering breath. "You don't have to lie to me. I can live with just the fact that someone has heard it, just once in my life, and leave it at that. Please, just...let me have that."
Douglas' face softened, and he reached across with one hand to clasp Martin's chin with one hand, gently holding him in place so they gazed eye-to-eye over the tabletop. "Shut up," he murmured, and the tone could only be called fond. "Martin, please. I'm not lying, so please just shut up and listen."
There was a moment of silence, no more than a few heartbeats...and then Martin gasped. It was a choking, ragged sound, and tears sprang to his eyes as he wrenched his face away from Douglas' gaze. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he blurted, words muffled as he covered his face with both hands.
"Martin," Douglas was out of his seat in a flash, crouching before Martin with his hands on Martin's knees to balance him. "Martin, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--I thought you might hear my call since I can hear yours--"
"No," Martin sniffled, putting a hand out to cup the back of Douglas' neck. "No, Douglas, I heard it," he peeled his other hand away from his face, and although his eyes were watery, he was smiling. In fact, he was smiling more broadly than Douglas had ever seen; he was downright incandescent.
"Then...what?" Douglas tipped his head back, leaning into the warmth of Martin's palm and balancing himself with a hand on Martin's waist. "Why are you...?"
"Douglas," Martin grinned, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You sound like a flawless lift-off on a cloudless day over Fitton. You sound like...blue skies and wispy clouds and--and flying."
Rating: PG
Pairing: Douglas/Martin
Warnings: Surprisingly non smutty? Mating calls, if that matters
Wordcount:
Disclaimer: Well I'm certainly not getting paid for this, so it's just a bit of harmless fun.
Summary: In a world where everyone has a unique mating call, Martin's is inaudible to the (average) human ear. So much so, in fact, nobody's ever heard his call. Enter Douglas.
Original prompt on
cabinpres_fic available here.His whole life, the only thing Martin thought his mating call was good for was keeping aggressive dogs at bay. When he was a teenager, he'd had a job delivering papers for a few pounds a week. More than once he'd been charged by a territorial German Shepherd or Blue Heeler, only to call out in panic and send the pooch yipping and whining in the other direction. Handy, but hardly the point of having a mating call.
Adulthood had been lonely, to say the least. Martin didn't get many dates, and after a while he'd stopped bringing up the mating call thing. After the first half dozen or so in his twenties ending in disappointment and, on one unpleasantly memorable occasion, laughter, he'd just sort of...given up. These days, if he got a date, his ridiculous mating call stayed firmly on the list of "Things Never To Talk About Even If All Other Conversation Has Been Exhausted and Date Is Now Horribly Awkward," along with the fact that he flew a plane for free and the fact that he lived in the attic of a student house.
On really bad nights, when the loneliness reached soul-crushing levels and the only other option would be to lie in bed and cry, Martin would call loudly and repeatedly from his room. He didn't really believe anyone would answer, but it was satisfying to send every dog in the neighborhood into paroxysms. And when the students were surly and sleep-deprived the next morning, complaining about the three a.m. canine serenade, well, that was just a bonus. Misery really did love company.
Shortly after his conversation with Douglas about all-boys rafts and such, Martin had a particularly bad week. The dogs in his neighborhood thought the apocalypse must be coming, and the students were ready to start laying out rat poison for the dogs. Not that they would, but it had been mentioned and Martin then proceeded to feel horribly guilty on top of feeling lonely and depressed.
"Martin," Douglas' voice jarred Martin out of his musings on the recent doggy tribulation. "Are you sure you're quite all right? You're looking a bit peaky." They were somewhere over the Irish sea, enjoying a short lull before touching down in Dublin, and Martin was feeling peaky, much less looking it.
"I'm fine," he sighed despondently, checking their altitude for the fourth time in a minute. "Just...it's been a couple of short nights."
"Ah...student parties?" Douglas inquired, looking unconvinced as to his Captain's fine-ness. The lad looked like hell, truth be told, but if he insisted he was all right there wasn't much Douglas could do.
"Something like that," Martin sighed again, and in a fit of dejection, called out forlornly. It was a long, wavering note, sad in his own ears, and up here he didn't even have the dubious satisfaction of inflicting his own misery on any passing animals.
Beside him, Douglas snapped to attention, head swiveling round and ears--figuratively--perked. "Did you hear that?" he demanded, eyes sharp. "It sounded like...bells."
Martin gaped. "B--bell--what?" he stammered, gasping. It couldn't be.
"Yes, bells," Douglas confirmed, cocking his head. "Like a bell choir, you know, or church bells? I couldn't tell, but it's gone now."
"Hang--hang on," Martin gulped, rolled his shoulders back, and called again.
"There it is! God, what is that?" Douglas frowned, moving his head around to try listening from different angles. "It's lovely. Are you sure you can't hear it?"
~*~
"Sit," Douglas' hand on Martin's shoulder was warm and comforting, a port in the storm of Martin's tempestuous emotions. "Martin, breathe. It's fine. We'll figure this out. Good heavens; do I need to get you a paper bag?"
"No," Martin shook his head, immediately regretting it when it only made his dizziness worse. He vaguely remembered stammering something nigh-incoherent to Douglas about dog whistles and mating calls in the flight deck, followed by nearly hyperventilating and possibly some dry heaves, and then begging Douglas to take the landing. "No, I'm--uh, better." By no means fine, but better at least.
A paper cup of tea appeared under Martin's nose and he jumped, skittish. "Steady," Douglas cautioned, pressing the cup into his hand. "Three sugars. You look as if you need it."
"Thanks," Martin gulped half the cup in one go, wincing as it burned all the way down. Douglas sat down across from him, the small cafe table just big enough for him to rest his elbows on and still give Martin room enough to breathe. "Douglas, I am--I'm so sorry," Martin began, staring at the table top. "I didn't mean to do it in the first place...it's just sometimes it's so. I just. Nobody's ever, and now you, and--I'm sorry."
Douglas, ever infuriatingly calm, waited for Martin to finish floundering before stepping in. "Did you know," he began, sipping a steaming cup of his own. "I've never heard a mating call before. Not a one."
Martin frowned, looking fully at Douglas' face for the first time since he'd panicked in the flight deck. "But--but you've been married," he protested. "Three times!"
"I have been indeed," Douglas nodded in equanimity. "But all my wives had two things in common. One, they could hear my call, and two--I never could hear theirs. Not even a peep."
Martin looked fascinated, which was a marked improvement on his frightened-rodent routine. "Is, er, that why...?" he began, biting his lip in chagrin. "I'm sorry, that's--"
"Is that why I've also been divorced three times? No," Douglas finished off his tea, spinning the cup in his hands idly. "There were different issues each time. That was never really a bone of contention, but it is true that all three of my marriages fell apart due to various types of incompatibility. I suppose the, ah, lack of wireless signal could have been an early clue."
"And now--you've heard mine," Martin's tea was long gone, and he was systematically destroying the paper cup while simultaneously paying it no mind whatsoever.
"I have," Douglas nodded, dropping his eyes to his hands. "It's a surprise, I'll admit, but--well, if I'm honest, Martin, it's not really a disappointment."
A flush swept up Martin's neck, starting at his collar and making its way to his hairline in record time. "That's--that's very kind of you, Douglas," he whispered. "But I'd really rather you--nobody's ever been able to before--it's not that I don't believe you can hear it," he pulled in a shuddering breath. "You don't have to lie to me. I can live with just the fact that someone has heard it, just once in my life, and leave it at that. Please, just...let me have that."
Douglas' face softened, and he reached across with one hand to clasp Martin's chin with one hand, gently holding him in place so they gazed eye-to-eye over the tabletop. "Shut up," he murmured, and the tone could only be called fond. "Martin, please. I'm not lying, so please just shut up and listen."
There was a moment of silence, no more than a few heartbeats...and then Martin gasped. It was a choking, ragged sound, and tears sprang to his eyes as he wrenched his face away from Douglas' gaze. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he blurted, words muffled as he covered his face with both hands.
"Martin," Douglas was out of his seat in a flash, crouching before Martin with his hands on Martin's knees to balance him. "Martin, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--I thought you might hear my call since I can hear yours--"
"No," Martin sniffled, putting a hand out to cup the back of Douglas' neck. "No, Douglas, I heard it," he peeled his other hand away from his face, and although his eyes were watery, he was smiling. In fact, he was smiling more broadly than Douglas had ever seen; he was downright incandescent.
"Then...what?" Douglas tipped his head back, leaning into the warmth of Martin's palm and balancing himself with a hand on Martin's waist. "Why are you...?"
"Douglas," Martin grinned, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You sound like a flawless lift-off on a cloudless day over Fitton. You sound like...blue skies and wispy clouds and--and flying."
