#Sid Carter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elvieshezza · 3 months ago

Text

Like Real People Do

Inspector Sullivan needs a shave, but an injury means he can't do it himself. Who better to ask than Sidney Carter?

Sid opens the caravan’s door and stops short on the threshold.

Inspector Sullivan stands on the crate Sid uses as a step, looking – well. Awkward’s a given whenever Sullivan’s around, but this is something else. Hat clutched in his left hand, stubbornly refusing to look Sid in the eye, a pretty blush dancing on his cheeks.

Intriguing.

“Sullivan. What is it I’m supposed to have done this time?” Sid drawls, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “Thought you were off work, anyway?” he asks, gesturing at Sullivan’s other arm.

It’s bound tightly against the man’s chest, supported in an uncomfortable looking sling that seems out of place against his suit. His coat draped over his injured side, his hand sitting loosely in the sling, not clutching a fountain pen and notebook ready to interrogate. It all just looks… wrong.

“I am. That’s not- that’s not why I’m here.” Sullivan says, looking sheepish. Christ, Sid can feel the discomfort radiating off him in waves. The pair of them have managed a sort of truce in the past few weeks, more civil, less likely to antagonise each other.

“Oh? Then what could you possibly want with little old me?” Sid teases. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t enjoying watching the other man squirm.

Somehow, Sullivan manages to look even more uncomfortable, so Sid takes pity.

“Look, come in, would ya? No use standing out here waiting for the grass to grow.” He turns to allow Sullivan entry, though not before seeing Sullivan’s throat bob with a bracing gulp. Nerves? Odd.

Sullivan steps through the door, then reaches to pull his coat off. The action looks awkward, ungainly with only one arm of any use. Sullivan winces, a flash of pain crossing his face, and before Sid can realise what he’s doing, he steps forward to help.

“C’mere.” He says softly, reaching to pull the coat off of his shoulders.

“Thank you.”

Sid waves it off, gestures the other man to one of the seats in the cramped space. He watches Sullivan a second, observes. He looks a little unkempt, a little less put together than he normally does.

A few strands of hair lying out of place, top button of his shirt open, no tie. But most of all, Sid notes with interest, dark stubble lining his jaw and cheeks. A far cry from Sullivan’s normal look, clean shaven and buttoned up. It’s really quite attractive.

He opens his mouth to ask again why Sullivan’s here, but the inspector beats him to it.

“Listen, Cart- Sid. I’m sorry to do this, I really am, but I haven’t got anyone else to ask…” Sullivan trails off.

Sid waits with a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t- I don’t- Would you give me a hand with shaving?” he finally blurts. “I know it’s a reach and you really don’t have to, but I can’t do it myself, and like I said, I didn’t know who else to ask.” Sullivan finishes, with a wary but hopeful glance at Sid.

Oh. Well, that’s not quite what Sid expected. At all. The strangest thing is that he doesn’t find himself opposed to the idea of it, of helping the other man shave. No, rather the opposite. To be so close to Sullivan, to hear the rush of his breath, feel the warmth of his skin under his touch. It’s tempting. Dangerously tempting.

Besides, there’s always been something between them. Something more than the petty rivalry they have on the streets. Mutual interest, mutual attraction, neither brave enough to do anything about it. Now Sid thinks about it, this seems like a perfect opportunity.

By the time Sid snaps out of his thoughts, Sullivan is rambling again.

“You really don’t have to, I shouldn’t have asked, I knew it was a stretch, I’m sorry. I’ll go-“

Sullivan rises and attempts to move towards the door, but Sid’s quicker.

“No! No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. Come and sit.” Sid says, blocking Sullivan’s path to the door.

“I really am sorry to impose on you like this. I would’ve gone to the barber, but…”

Some of the tension eases from Sullivan, and he perches back down on the seat.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Nah, don’t blame you. Pete’s alright for trims but he’s more likely to slit your throat than give you a proper shave.”

Sullivan smiles faintly, and fiddles with the edge of the sling as Sid busies himself with digging his shaving kit out.

Besides, Sid could hardly refuse, could he? Especially since it’s mostly his fault Sullivan needs the help anyway.

“How’s the shoulder, anyway?” He asks with a hint of apology in his tone as he heats up some water.

“Sore. Stiff. Painful.” Sullivan replies with a rueful smile.

Well, it wasn’t totally Sid’s fault. Both of them had been in pursuit of Kembleford’s latest killer, feet thundering up the hardwood stairs of the country house. Sid had gone one way, Sullivan the other. Too distracted with sprinting down the long, labyrinthine hallways of the house, Sid hadn’t been entirely looking where he was going.

In his defence, Sullivan hadn’t been looking either.

The pair of them had collided, and Sullivan had been sent flying back down the stairs, landing with all the elegance of a stampeding rhinoceros. Sid, forgetting completely what he’d been doing, had rushed to check on him, but the stubborn bastard had waved him off, instead continuing the chase and making his arrest.

Still, not even Sullivan could ignore a broken collarbone for very long – though Goodfellow had had to drag him near kicking and screaming into getting medical attention.

And now, here they are.

“I am sorry, you know?” Sid says, soaking his cleanest towel in the hot water.

“I know, Carter, you’ve said at least twelve times. Not to mention that I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”

“Yeah, but still. Anyway, warm your face up with that while I change the blade.” Sid offers him the wet towel, and Sullivan takes it with surprising gentleness. He’s not sure if the obedience just stems from how awkward Sullivan is, or something altogether more interesting.

Still, Sid intends to do a good job. He’s got out his finest shaving soap, the stuff he normally saves for Lady F’s posh events, and he’s even cracked out an aftershave that he thinks Sullivan might like.

The idea that Sullivan will soon smell like Sid sends a little thrill up his spine – no, control yourself, Carter.

“Come here, into the light.” Sid requests.

“…Okay.” Sullivan replies softly, barely more than a murmur.

The first contact of the shaving brush on Sullivan’s jaw makes the man recoil slightly. Without thinking, Sid brings his other hand up and puts it gently, so gently on the back of Sullivan’s head. He feels the short, close-cut hairs on the man’s neckline, and absently he wonders what Sullivan uses to make his hair feel so soft.

Working up a lather on Sullivan’s skin takes no time at all, even though Sid is trying to drag it out.

“Alright?” He asks as he sets the brush down, swapping it for the razor.

Sullivan’s eyes are half lidded, like he’s lost in a distant memory. He blinks and seems to realise where exactly he is.

“Oh – yes, thank you.’ He says, a little shakily.

“Right. Stay still, then. Don’t want to hurt you again.” Sid replies with a cheeky smile.

The first pass of the razor down Sullivan’s cheek is tentative, careful, barely making contact at all. He wills his hands to keep steady. The second attempt is better, more confident – blade leaving a smooth, clear trail behind.

Sid loses himself in the motion of it – he follows the contours of Sullivan’s well-chiselled jawline with ease, careful and cautious and delicate. Down the cheeks, over the lips, on the chin. He brings his other hand up, cupping the other side of the man’s face to keep him still, and he feels Sullivan lean ever so slightly into the gentle touch.

Interesting.

Abruptly, Sid realises that this might be the only sort of physical touch Sullivan has had in a long while. He’s so professional, so proper and, Sid thinks, rather lonely. He flicks his eyes up to try and meet Sullivan’s, but they’ve gone half-lidded again, like he’s half a world away, basking in a hazy state of bliss. He’s never seen the other man so pliant. Sid feels a little shock of pride that he’s the one to have induced it.

“Tilt your head back.” Sid whispers. Sullivan complies, baring his throat without a second of hesitation. There’s an odd… vulnerability to it, like watching a hedgehog uncurl, like watching a feral cat show its belly.

Sid’s fingers rest lightly on the other side of Sullivan’s jaw. The soft thump of the man’s pulse beats a rhythm on Sid’s fingertips. Sid, moving very slowly indeed, rubs his thumb gently over Sullivan’s cheekbone, swiping away a fleck of soap left behind. The motion draws a delightful little sound from his throat, a tiny little subconscious moan that Sid’ll be thinking about on his deathbed.

He drags the razor down Sullivan’s neck, painstakingly gentle around his Adam’s apple, moving the blade away as he watches his throat bob up and down with a swallow.

He’s nearly finished, and Sid finds himself mourning it. A few more strokes, a few more passes, light and mindful and slow.

One more, and… there.

It’s over too soon. Sid sets the razor back down on the caravan’s table, but leaves his hand where it is cupping Sullivan’s face. He brings the other one up to mirror it on Sullivan’s other side.

Sullivan’s eyelashes flutter, a deep, blissful exhale, then his eyes blink open. Slowly, tentatively, his good hand settles itself on the small of Sid’s back.

Sid leans forward, careful not to crush Sullivan’s injured arm where it rests in the sling, thumb again stroking over Sullivan’s cheek as he presses his lips to Sullivan’s.

It’s slow, it’s sensual, and so deeply passionate. He is kissing Inspector Sullivan, and Inspector Sullivan is kissing back.

It seems to last an age, but unfortunately the pair of them do need to breathe, so Sid pulls back.

“Alright?” He asks again, but this time it’s through a mad grin he can’t seem to wipe off his face.

“I- er- Yes. Yes.” Sullivan laughs, peering up at Sid with startled but deeply pleased eyes.

“We should’ve done that sooner.” Sid says. Sullivan laughs, and instantly it is Sid’s favourite sound.

“I suppose I should thank you.” Sullivan whispers, hand still resting on Sid’s back.

“No need. D’you want aftershave?”

“Oh- yes, please.” Like it’s not a thinly veiled excuse to keep Sid’s dextrous hands on his face.

Sid rubs a little into his palms, and dabs gently across Sullivan’s face, feeling the smooth, silky skin courtesy of his own ministrations. He grins with pride as he manages to draw another one of those little noises from Sullivan.

They look at each other for a moment, then Sullivan stands and reaches for his coat. Sid reaches out and gently pulls his arm down, earning himself a quizzical look.

“Why don’t you stay? S’not like you’re at work – come lay down with me a while.” Sid urges, tugging the other man back.

Sullivan pauses a second, thinking, face unreadable. Just as Sid is accepting that he’s going to go, Sullivan speaks.

“Alright, then.”

A radiant, beaming smile is his reward as Sid pulls him towards the caravan’s bed. He leans in for another kiss, then another, then another.

“Sid?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

ao3

#father brown #inspector sullivan #sid carter #sidney carter #sid x sullivan #fanfic #i miss them both so goddamn much

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