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ajremixThis came out very different than I had intended though, tbh, I didn't actually know where I was going with this to begin with. Inspired by a throw away line in Salvation Run #1 in which Mick comments about not being able to recognize any of the stars. Takes place in some undetermined time well before that, though.
Title: And the Stars Above
Fandom: DCU
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1132
Characters: Mick, Len
Summary: A break from the absurdity of daily life.
There weren't a lot of hard and fast rules for being a Rogue- don't hurt women or children, avoid excessive collateral damage, no drugs- they were all pretty basic, common sense things. Then there were unspoken rules like no gimmicks during card games, don't steal someone else's booze, hockey games are Serious Business and let Captain Not-A-Damn-Babysitter Cold know if you're planning on leaving the cities.
For the most part, Len could usually tell whenever someone was going to head out for a while. They all had a bit of wanderlust in them which was only partially driven by how aggressive Flash was cracking down. For the last few days Len had been watching Mick struggling with that very itch. It had been raining pretty regularly for the last week- and the Rogues had long learned not to bother Mark about changing weather they didn't like -and a new event was coming up at the Flash museum which meant all the speedsters were out keeping the peace. The lack of being able to go out much or being able to occupy themselves with planning had all the Rogues getting antsy. Mick, though, was a country boy deep in his bones and after a prolong period of time in the city, he started feeling caged by the buildings. So, really, it was only a matter of time before he stuck his head into the room and told Len, "I'm heading out for a few days."
Normally Len would've just grunted and waved him off- because he's not a babysitter, dammit -but a wave of realization suddenly hit him. Trickster was experimenting with new gimmicks which somehow meant taking over half of the hideout with his crap and explosions going off at random times in the night. And Digger had recently been evicted from his apartment which meant he had taken over the other half of the hideout. And McCulloch was failing to win over some woman so he was needling Mark to make himself feel better. The thought of having to deal with all that and the weather and even more vigilant speedsters by himself had Len saying, "I'll come with."
Mick- thank whatever supreme beings were listening -did nothing more than say, "Pack quick," and, "We're going camping".
It didn't take Len long to throw some clothes into a bag and tack a note to the fridge should any of the others actually notice they left. There was an old, beat up truck in the garage the Rogues used on the rare occasion they couldn't or didn't want to use mirrors and Mick had already gotten it ready to travel. They swung by a grocery store to pick up some food and headed out.
They drove westward for a couple hours and Len slouched down in the passenger seat, already feeling the tension of the city sloughing off. Neither spoke much on the drive, one or both occasionally singing along to the radio and Len dozed intermittently along the way. He was awake when Mick turned off the highway, passing a sign that said Tallgrass Prairie Preserve. From past experience, he knew Mick only went there in the rainy season, when the tall grass the place was named for was too wet to catch fire. Camping wasn't allowed on the preserve, but Mick had been there often enough he knew the best ways to avoid the rangers.
They set up camp next to one of the smaller lakes though 'set up camp' was pretty generous. Mick parked the truck, put their bags in the cab, laid blankets on the cleared out bed and dug a small fire pit and that was that. Len took the fishing pole Mick had brought and found a place to sit and cast a line into the lake. He'd never gone fishing growing up though it was something his grandfather had talked about, hoping to take a young Len one day. It never happened until the first time Len went camping with Mick. It was kind of nice, just sitting there, letting his mind wander, not actually concerned with catching anything. When he got his first fish, he felt oddly proud at the way Mick lit up when he saw it. The euphoria quickly turned into horror as he watched the way Mick methodically cleaned and gutted the thing for dinner.
Mick had just laughed at him and called him a big city baby which normally would get Len bristling but the way Mick smiled at him, fond and warm, left him stammering instead. These days Len didn't flinch at Mick's work but had no want to learn to do it himself. By the time the sun was beginning to set, Len caught three decent sized fish. He sat leaning against the back tire of the truck, watching as Mick prepped the fish, humming to himself. It always made Len feel better, seeing Mick at ease.
They ate and drank and only talked when they felt compelled to. Silence was rarely uncomfortable between them. Then, when the fire died down, they climbed into the bed of the truck and laid down, shoulder to shoulder. It was warm enough that they didn't need cover, especially sharing body heat like that. The stars were bright at the preserve and, eventually, Mick started naming the constellations. That was always Len's favorite part of these camping trips. One of them, anyway. As Mick spoke, Len gradually shuffled closer until his head rested on Mick's shoulder, able to feel the man's voice rumbling under his cheek.
At some point Len's eyes must have slid shut because when he opened them again, he realized that Mick had finished talking some time ago and his hand had snuck under Mick's shirt, resting on his bare belly. He tilted his head up, nose bumping against Mick's jaw. "You done already?" Len asked, voice a low rumble, words stretched out with lethargy.
Under him, Mick's chest shook with a chuckle. "Thought you fell asleep on me."
"Not yet," Len said. He got up on an elbow, leaning over to look into Mick's face as he hand slid down, the tips of his fingers brushing under the waist of Mick's jeans. "Not tired yet." Not when they had so few chances to be together like this without reputations hanging over their heads. Without heroes and villains and the other Rogues barging in on them at any moment.
Mick smiled and Len's breath caught, wondering how in the world did he ever deserve a smile like that. A hand cupped the back of Len's head, tugging lightly at his hair before pulling him down. Len sighed into Mick's mouth, melting against the man, this rare tenderness witnessed only by the wind through the grass and the stars above.
Title: And the Stars Above
Fandom: DCU
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1132
Characters: Mick, Len
Summary: A break from the absurdity of daily life.
There weren't a lot of hard and fast rules for being a Rogue- don't hurt women or children, avoid excessive collateral damage, no drugs- they were all pretty basic, common sense things. Then there were unspoken rules like no gimmicks during card games, don't steal someone else's booze, hockey games are Serious Business and let Captain Not-A-Damn-Babysitter Cold know if you're planning on leaving the cities.
For the most part, Len could usually tell whenever someone was going to head out for a while. They all had a bit of wanderlust in them which was only partially driven by how aggressive Flash was cracking down. For the last few days Len had been watching Mick struggling with that very itch. It had been raining pretty regularly for the last week- and the Rogues had long learned not to bother Mark about changing weather they didn't like -and a new event was coming up at the Flash museum which meant all the speedsters were out keeping the peace. The lack of being able to go out much or being able to occupy themselves with planning had all the Rogues getting antsy. Mick, though, was a country boy deep in his bones and after a prolong period of time in the city, he started feeling caged by the buildings. So, really, it was only a matter of time before he stuck his head into the room and told Len, "I'm heading out for a few days."
Normally Len would've just grunted and waved him off- because he's not a babysitter, dammit -but a wave of realization suddenly hit him. Trickster was experimenting with new gimmicks which somehow meant taking over half of the hideout with his crap and explosions going off at random times in the night. And Digger had recently been evicted from his apartment which meant he had taken over the other half of the hideout. And McCulloch was failing to win over some woman so he was needling Mark to make himself feel better. The thought of having to deal with all that and the weather and even more vigilant speedsters by himself had Len saying, "I'll come with."
Mick- thank whatever supreme beings were listening -did nothing more than say, "Pack quick," and, "We're going camping".
It didn't take Len long to throw some clothes into a bag and tack a note to the fridge should any of the others actually notice they left. There was an old, beat up truck in the garage the Rogues used on the rare occasion they couldn't or didn't want to use mirrors and Mick had already gotten it ready to travel. They swung by a grocery store to pick up some food and headed out.
They drove westward for a couple hours and Len slouched down in the passenger seat, already feeling the tension of the city sloughing off. Neither spoke much on the drive, one or both occasionally singing along to the radio and Len dozed intermittently along the way. He was awake when Mick turned off the highway, passing a sign that said Tallgrass Prairie Preserve. From past experience, he knew Mick only went there in the rainy season, when the tall grass the place was named for was too wet to catch fire. Camping wasn't allowed on the preserve, but Mick had been there often enough he knew the best ways to avoid the rangers.
They set up camp next to one of the smaller lakes though 'set up camp' was pretty generous. Mick parked the truck, put their bags in the cab, laid blankets on the cleared out bed and dug a small fire pit and that was that. Len took the fishing pole Mick had brought and found a place to sit and cast a line into the lake. He'd never gone fishing growing up though it was something his grandfather had talked about, hoping to take a young Len one day. It never happened until the first time Len went camping with Mick. It was kind of nice, just sitting there, letting his mind wander, not actually concerned with catching anything. When he got his first fish, he felt oddly proud at the way Mick lit up when he saw it. The euphoria quickly turned into horror as he watched the way Mick methodically cleaned and gutted the thing for dinner.
Mick had just laughed at him and called him a big city baby which normally would get Len bristling but the way Mick smiled at him, fond and warm, left him stammering instead. These days Len didn't flinch at Mick's work but had no want to learn to do it himself. By the time the sun was beginning to set, Len caught three decent sized fish. He sat leaning against the back tire of the truck, watching as Mick prepped the fish, humming to himself. It always made Len feel better, seeing Mick at ease.
They ate and drank and only talked when they felt compelled to. Silence was rarely uncomfortable between them. Then, when the fire died down, they climbed into the bed of the truck and laid down, shoulder to shoulder. It was warm enough that they didn't need cover, especially sharing body heat like that. The stars were bright at the preserve and, eventually, Mick started naming the constellations. That was always Len's favorite part of these camping trips. One of them, anyway. As Mick spoke, Len gradually shuffled closer until his head rested on Mick's shoulder, able to feel the man's voice rumbling under his cheek.
At some point Len's eyes must have slid shut because when he opened them again, he realized that Mick had finished talking some time ago and his hand had snuck under Mick's shirt, resting on his bare belly. He tilted his head up, nose bumping against Mick's jaw. "You done already?" Len asked, voice a low rumble, words stretched out with lethargy.
Under him, Mick's chest shook with a chuckle. "Thought you fell asleep on me."
"Not yet," Len said. He got up on an elbow, leaning over to look into Mick's face as he hand slid down, the tips of his fingers brushing under the waist of Mick's jeans. "Not tired yet." Not when they had so few chances to be together like this without reputations hanging over their heads. Without heroes and villains and the other Rogues barging in on them at any moment.
Mick smiled and Len's breath caught, wondering how in the world did he ever deserve a smile like that. A hand cupped the back of Len's head, tugging lightly at his hair before pulling him down. Len sighed into Mick's mouth, melting against the man, this rare tenderness witnessed only by the wind through the grass and the stars above.
