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weirdowithaquill · 2 years ago

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What is the 'Engine Rulebook' and where did it come from?:

So, this really early era of railways was a bit insane, and I am not quite well-versed enough to make a case-study out of everything - but like with my Big 4 scrap post, this is more about trends than singular examples - though some do appear.

The 'Engine Rulebook' is basically the set of rules that every engine ever is taught when built. It's a series of important rules, customs and doctrine used by managers to keep engines in line. Yes, I will use a little business-management theory in here, because early management styles have a major effect. And every railway has its own rulebook that may have differences. But there are a few key things in the 'Engine Rulebook' that I see being universal:

1: The company comes first. This is basically the company ensuring loyalty by indoctrinating the engine to see its railway company as the most important aspect of their life. In the Railway Series, Donald and Douglas have very strong ties back to Scotland and the Caledonian railway - which is why they enjoy blue so much. It's the Caledonian Railway colour! And then there's Duck - who literally continues to wear his GWR colours even after joining the NWR. He's deeply connected to the GWR because of this loyalty taught to him.

2: Railway rules. This includes signalling, signage, speed limits, whistles and their uses, headcodes, flags and every other piece of railway rules. They are read the rulebook, and learn everything in it. It's vital! Percy is an industrial engine who is never taught this rulebook - because industries don't have many engines and often pilfer bits from a bigger company's - and thus Percy doesn't know much about the rules of being on a railway when he arrives on Sodor.

3: Etiquette (based on duty). Now, I don't mean bowing or curtseying or the proper fork for fish - I mean the ins and outs of the duty the engine will be expected to complete. Passenger engines learn how to handle coaches and speak politely to passengers, freight engines learn how to handle trucks and look after different cargos, shunting engines learn a new set of rules for the yards - this sort of thing. Gordon struggles with trucks because he was never taught how to handle them.

4: The managers are always right. Touched on this in a reblog of this @mean-scarlet-deceiver ramble, but its basically that the engines are taught that their managers are right in all contexts (unless breaking one of the above rules) and need to be respected and have all directions followed. The manager says to shunt - you go and shunt. They say to go get scrapped - and a good engine listens without hesitation. Doesn't work out in real life all the time - see Oliver, or the Big Engines' strike - but it definitely keeps most engines in line.

So we have these four core rules - but where did they come from? Well...

Regency Era Railways:

Straight off the bat - this is the era where every railway is figuring itself out. The L&MR was where everything was forged in fire - before it, the only railways that existed were isolated plateways in mines and the Stockton & Darlington Railway. None of these were anywhere near as complex as the L&MR, which is really the first railway 'system' in the way we might understand today. It's also where the first sentient engines begin to make a proper appearance and have an effect on people. Before, they were hidden in mines, if they existed at all - but now the public can see them!

Like, imagine this rocks up to collect you in an era when the most advanced method of transport is literally a horse. And it has a face. Remember, in this period people though that if they went over a certain speed or through a tunnel they would explode - so now the thing that might just kill them has a face?!

Managers would very quickly begin implementing ways to soothe their passengers. One way of doing that would be to dehumanise the engines - I can see many early engines being given basically no education because they are both seen as being 'working class' and because they are machines. When Rocket first ran, there were no public schools.

In this era, engines didn't know much, and they were isolated on their little systems. Yard managers are one of the few people with authority that these engines meet on a regular basis, and they use this to their advantage and cultivate this idea that the engines are entirely subservient to them. This is where that manager loyalty begins to become apparent - just not quite in its modern form.

The only education an engine would get is how to be loyal. Why should they learn signals, or passenger etiquette, or how to read? That is a driver or a guard's job. And so this really early era is characterised by dehumanisation and a lot of public-relations officers doing their best to downgrade the sentience of the engines. It's a lot of "yes they have a face, no they don't have intelligence, don't worry". This does extend into the Victorian era, as seen in Very Old Engines, as Skarloey arrives on Sodor with some principles taught at the workshop, only to be met with "you don't have rights, do your job." Which he naturally rebels at and then gets covered in a tarp for his troubles.

Of course, the Regency Era ends very soon into railway history, and just in time for a major game-changer.

The Victorian Era:

1838 is the year the first GWR train runs, and this railway in the South-west of England will have a huge impact on all railways that come after. First, the entire board of directors are very elitist and influential in parliament. This is a railway that needs to live up to its owners.

It is the GWR, not the L&MR, that writes the first book on engine learning. It's also the GWR, and not any other railway in the UK, that first develops a proper corporate culture for its engines that they actually like. The GWR does this by actually treating the engines like they have sentience.

Engines like Iron Duke are introduced to the 'Great Western Way' - this being the rulebook that Brunel and Gooch develop to best serve their wealthy owners. These engines are taught to read, understand the rules of the railway, passenger etiquette - which by now can be taught because there's less fumbling around blindly - and perhaps most importantly: they are taught a very proud mindset. The railway is the most important aspect of their lives, and they are to serve it to the best of their ability. All four of the rules appear in their first form here, except that the etiquette is not entirely based on duty, and instead all engines are taught all jobs - which horrified much of the rest of the railway companies.

But while this is going on on the GWR, the rest of the country's railways were trying to survive a crisis. Railway Mania swept Britain, and hundreds of engines and built (and destroyed) by the week. One thousand bills for new railways were submitted to parliament during this period, and while not all were built - it certainly had an impact. The LNWR was formed during this period, chunks of the Midland Railway, NER, GNR, GCR, Caledonian and basically every other major railway were all constructed in this time frame - but that didn't mean a drastic improvement in how the engines were treated in this area. Many North-western railways were influenced by the thinking from the L&MR, leading to entire fleets of early engines having zero clue how to act or even speak in some cases. When the bubble collapsed, many engines were scrapped - and this is where the other extremely important pillar stone of railway doctrine was introduced: engines are expendable, and should not want to hinder a company. The fourth rule is set into stone here, and goes unchanged and practically unchallenged all the way into the modern era.

This here, the end of steam in Britain, is able to happen because of principles introduced during Railway Mania. British Railways uses this rulebook and the laws that most likely surround it by this point to justify their actions, and also because thanks to this rulebook very few engines have the vague notion or idea to protest. Why would they, it goes against the rules!

The eradication of steam is almost directly caused by the era of Railway Mania and the principles managers introduced in the era to protect their profit margins. Without that doctrine, engines would have had a lot more rights and a lot more ability to protest being scrapped.

In other words, the 1840's was when scrapping began to appear properly, as well as the explosions, derailments and every other crash from the previous generation. Engines became unfeeling in this era - in the north at least. The GWR escaped this by being... well, not an economic bubble.

However, as the British Isles emerges from Railway Mania, two very strong railways vie for influence: the LNWR and the GWR. The LNWR has that traditional L&MR mindset - and it leads to a huge problem. The engines begin to learn how to speak from their crews, and moreover they question why their GWR counterparts are treated so much better. The LNWR also suffers from a number of easily preventable accidents caused by the engine having zero clue what to do.

Some railways land between the two, and it was the GNR that ended up formulating the four rules in their next evolution: engines were only taught their jobs. This was the GNR compromise with their board members. The board wanted a GWR approach, however the actual managers on the ground rebelled, worrying this would lead to the engines working together to demand fairer treatment. The Communist Manifesto was in major circulation at the time, and none of these companies wanted their engines getting any ideas. Instead, they implemented something of a class system, with express engines at the top and shunters at the bottom.

In the TVS, Emily is extremely abrasive towards Thomas (Seasons 8-12), and it may just have to do with the way she was raised, seeing shunters as the lowest form of engine. Gordon certainly did!

These three very distinct practices all melded and fused together on the Midland Railway - which of course ran right in between them all. The Midland Railway wrote the third proper rulebook in 1859, roughly twenty years after the GWR wrote its.

The Midland Railway's rulebook took the LNWR idea that engines needed to be taught to accept death, the GNR idea of a class system and the GWR importance of company loyalty and railway-rule-knowledge and fused them together, being able to create the rulebook that most British railways would use by 1890. The major exception to this was of course the Great Western, which slowly evolved its rulebook to use the LNWR ideas of engines being subservient to their managers while retaining the classless form of etiquette the engines were taught. The GNR would also hold out on some ideas from the GWR until it was amalgamated into the LNER, due to rising fears of Communism by the board.

Many smaller railways, such as the Furness Railway or the Highland Railway in Scotland, would use the GWR style, due to the smaller size of the workforce, and thus the potential necessity for engines to complete duties they were trained for.

Duck fits into his role at Tidmouth with such ease because he knows the theory behind every express train, every freight train, every style of shunting and branchline service. He doesn't need them, but the GWR engines were taught this just in case. Duck is excellent at his job, but he won't take any flak from the other engines because his GWR ideology makes him see them all as equal. This is of course part of the Great Western Way as explained in this post.

In direct contrast, Gordon has zero clue how to pull a freight train, and stalls on the hill because he physically doesn't know what to do.

And this brings me quite neatly to Sir Topham Hatt I. See, this is a GWR man who runs a railway that is very heavily influenced by the Midland Railway rulebook ideology. Edward knows how to do multiple tasks because the Furness Railway used GWR practice (maybe that's why he likes Edward?) while none of the other engines do. Sir Topham Hatt's management style using GWR practice is so confusing to them. Why is James - who is mixed-traffic at best - pulling the express? Why is Gordon pulling freight? Why are the big engines shunting?!

And then we have Henry. Sir Topham and Henry have such a rocky relationship, and it in many ways comes from the fact that Henry had none of the formal education that I just discussed. He's a privately-built engine from stolen plans sold cheap. He doesn't actually know the etiquette of a passenger train - no wonder he stops when he doesn't like the weather! He doesn't physically know better, and so he's acting on his first instincts. This clashes so badly with the GWR style which places etiquette almost above everything else. Hatt reacts so badly and outright insanely to this because to him, Henry is actively and deliberately breaking every rule in the book because of his paint? And Henry doesn't have a clue. Look at how horrified he is!

And don't get me wrong, this is extremely unethical and very stupid, but it has a precedence in miscommunication, differing ideologies and Henry's foolishness.

This was another massive ramble with a lot of insanity, but I do enjoy writing these. Helps organise my mind! As usual, none of the above pictures belong to me, and feel free to chuck in a comment with your opinion!

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boy4days · 2 years ago

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Speed darlington and Adaier in NY, 2005

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deepperplexity · 1 year ago

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Prompt: 12. Giver Of Gifts [D2]

Pairing: Gruber x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Countryside resort near Darlington

Continuation of: RICKMAS2022 prompts 14. Icy roads & 15. Frosty Glass and RICKMAS2023 Prompt 11. Imperfect Holiday

A/N: Hi darlings! I know I’m a day late, well, like 11 hours late, but my daughter needed me a little extra yesterday (nothing bad, she was just very cuddly and wanting to be literally on me) so when I got har to sleep I was so exhausted I couldn’t finish the fic. It’s a long one 😂 But here it is! And I’ll get today’s fic up later as well, don’t worry! I feel super creative and rested today so I’m going at full speed! 😍👏 But, this is the last fic of Hans and Anna-Louise. It’s been one of the hardest serial fics I’ve ever written, it takes so much with the language use and all that but I have had such a good time writing for these two! I really hope you’ll enjoy this one and how it all turns out in the end 🥰❤

Tags/TW’s: Light One Bed Trope, Kissing, Cudlding, Hugging, Being Left Behind, Secret Identity, Secrets, Self-Doubt, Finding One's Own Value, Gift Giving, Being Spoiled/Cared For, Criminality, Unlawful Actions, Falling In Love, Confessions Of Feelings, Indicates Hazardous Situations, Second Hand Revealing Of Secrets, Worrying, Charity, Fluff, Angst, H/C, Reassurance

Word Count: 6.7k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Our lips parted, my first ever good kiss. Fabulous, wonderful, perfect kiss. And it was with him, the man who not only saved my life and held impromptu therapy sessions over muffins but who also saw me and heard me — a man who I deeply felt cared for me, truly. To kiss him was… a trip. A real trip of every sensation my body was able to feel and no sooner had it ended than I wished to do it again.

“Schnuki, don’t doubt my want of you, or how special I think you are,” he whispered, it came out thick and heavy in his dark rumble of a voice. “I will spoil you in any and all ways I see fit, understand me?” he continued. “I— You are something else, Hans…” He chuckled at that and kissed my forehead in that gentle manner of his tightly groomed beard gentle but firm against my skin. That kiss only felt even sweeter now that I knew how urgently and intensely he could kiss my lips.

“Tell me you understand,” he urged. “I-, I think I understand. It’s difficult for me, I can’t really understand why me, and how it became me, but I’m bloody happy about it either way, is that alright?” I asked, my cheeks burning once more, perhaps I’ll evolve second-degree burns with this amount of blushing? Or I’ll need to chug water, all this warmth will leave me dehydrated. “That’s alright, I’ll make you understand in due time.”

There was a knock at the door and Hans slid out of my grasp. “Go put those on,” he said, pointing to the pyjama set of silk still on the bed. I nodded and grabbed them, heading to the bathroom just as he opened the door and I heard the bell boy announce that he was room service.

When I came back, dressed in the fabulous silk that made me feel wrapped in a cloud, Hans sat on the bed with a tray atop the covers with two covered plates, two glasses of orange juice, and a plump-looking blueberry muffin. “Is that for me?” I asked, pointing to the treat. “Yes, thought you could see if this fancy place compares to that little café.” I smiled at him and he patted the bed beside him, I carefully sat down cross-legged and he lifted off the silvery coverings that kept the food warm.

The smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes wafted up my nose — my stomach promptly growled with desperation to have the goodies. “S-sorry…” “My sweet treat, never apologise for any bodily functions with me. If you’re hungry, I’ll give you food. If you’re cold, I’ll offer my coat. If you need a shower, I’ll rent an entire house for one if needed.” I gaped at him while he smiled cheekily at me, it was nearly a smirk yet not quite. “Ooo-kay,” I said, prolonging the word far more than necessary, but what was I to say to that?

Hans pushed a fork toward me. “Eat, then we sleep.” I didn’t hesitate. Is tarted in on the bacon and eggs, cutting the long pieces of meat and mixing it with the eggs before topping it with a healthy dose of salt and shoving it into my mouth. The flavour burst atop my tongue and I groaned in appreciation. “Best, eggs and bacon, ever, had,” I mumbled as I chewed. “So good.” “Glad to hear it,” he said and started in on his pancakes, his knife and fork moving with steady precision while mine flew in an uncoordinated manner all over the plate.

When the plates were cleared I chugged the juice. I was full, but that muffin looked bloody tempting and I didn’t want to be ungrateful so I grabbed it and took a huge bite out of it. It was good, not as good as the ones at home but moist and flavourful. “Good?” Hans asked and I nodded. “Really good.” I took another bite while Hans cleared away the tray from the bed. “But not quite as good?” How did he know? I never even really ate the muffin last time, did I? No, no I don’t think I did. I was too wrapped up in him and how he held my hand and talked about how I was being treated, I mean, it’s not Ferdinand’s fault, but I think he was madder at Dad and Sis, then again I could be wrong. I’m often wrong, I guess, I never thought Mum would leave, or that Martha would become a dear friend, least of all I’d skip town with a rich German—

“Schnuki?” “Huh? Hmm? Yeah?” Hans smiled gently at me, stroking back a strand of hair by my cheek and hooking it behind my ear. “Lost in thought?” he asked. “Oh, umh, suppose so,” I said. “How did you know about the muffin?” “That it’s not as good?” I nodded. “It’s all over your face, little treat.” “What?” “You talk quite a bit, and you think even more I believe, but your face says everything one needs really. Just have to look,” he said and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Sorry…” I mumbled, looking down at my half-finished muffin while fiddling with the striped paper around it. “Don’t be, I quite like how open you are, and willing to share. Not a common thing these days, you know. You’re a rarity.” I scoffed. “That’s for sure. Imagine if everyone blabbers like me? Gosh, blimey, the world would be a headache-inducing verbal madhouse,” I chuckled, yet it made me sad, to be honest. “I’m not talking of others, just you,” Hans said and leaned over to kiss my temple. “Now, time to sleep.”

He went around the room, turning off lights and making sure all doors were locked before he pulled all the curtains while I got comfy in the giant bed — honestly, it was the softest and most comfortable bed I’d ever laid in. Then I bolted upright as the last light went out. There’s only one, just one, he’ll sleep next to me, oh gosh, he’s going to be next to me!

The bed dipped and Hans indeed slipped in under the cover - the single cover that was made for two people. “Schnuki? Aren’t you lying down?” “Oh, umh, yeah, yeah sure am,” I stuttered out and slowly sank down. “I won’t bite,” he whispered right beside me. “Come here.” He pulled me in, his arms securely wrapped around me while my heart galloped in my chest. I’d never shared a bed with anyone, and sharing a bed with Hans was an experience that had me tingly all over.

“My sweet treat,” he hummed and tugged me flush against his front, spooning me. “H-Hans,” I whispered and he hummed a sound of contentment. “I’ve never… Never shared a bed without any bloke,” I continued and he squeezed me even tighter. “What a lucky bloke I am then.” I don’t know, I think maybe I’m the lucky one. Feels like it, feels like I’m getting some Christmas miracle. A man being a miracle, bloody hell that’s a thing I never thought I’d think.

***

I’d fallen asleep way too fast in his arms. I slept all through the night and when morning came I woke up alone. The bed and room were empty. I did what any sane person would, I buried my smiling face in the pillow and kicked my legs under the cover with a giggle erupting from me. Hans, sweet Hans, and he’s with me! Me! Me? Like, what? I swear if I wake up in some snow mound after having slipped and hit my head or whatever nonsense I’ll go straight to whoever runs this show and strangle them.

The door opened, and faint footsteps echoed through the room. Hans probably thought I was asleep still. “Hans?” I asked, peeking out from under the cover, turning my head to not be buried in the pillow. “Scnuki, you’re awake, good,” he said and a second later the curtains were drawn away from the window and balcony door. “Breakfast will be here any minute.” “We really having it out there? It looks bloody cold,” I said while half sitting up. “You’ll be warm with blankets, and I ordered extra coffee. Black.” “Coffee, god, yes please,” I moaned and dragged myself out of bed to go freshen up in the bathroom.

I rummaged around my bag first though, looking for some fresh clothes to wear. “On the chair,” Hans said while pulling away the rest of the curtains while I looked over my shoulder. There were several bags on the chair, so I scurried over only to freeze as I looked into them. Clothes, shoes, gloves, a purse, and all gorgeous and expensive looking if my eyes served me right.

I grabbed a thick white jumper, knitted with little pearls added in a snowfall pattern from the shoulders and over the chest. “Hans-, Hans this is too much, way too much, and expensive. Are you completely bonkers? Gone mad with a Christmas flu or something?” He only chuckled and walked up to me. “You deserve pretty things, nice clothes, warm clothes,” he said and gave my shoulders a squeeze while I looked at the jumper in my hands. It was way, way, way too much.

“Now, get dressed, and we’ll have breakfast.” “But I can’t wear—” “Schnuki, accept my gifts for you.” I looked up at him, his eyes earnest and his features soft as he asked me to simply allow him to spoil me. I’d never been spoiled, or taken cared of, or even cared for . “In silks…” I muttered, remembering his words from yesterday about wanting to come home to me dressed in silk and finery.

I did as he asked, taking the jumper, some really pretty white jeans with a matching belt of cream and gold before nabbing some new underwear and socks as well. I stopped in the bathroom, before closing the door. “How do you know my sizes?” I asked, turning to look at the cheekily smirking man. “I just looked at you,” he said. “You are very easy to look at, my little treat.” I must have blushed scarlet, my skin was on fire once more and a knock at the door saved me from making a fool out of myself.

I felt like a tenner in my new clothes, the full-length mirror in the bathroom gave me the full view and everything fit perfectly, hugging my somewhat straight shape and perfectly complimenting my skin and hair. I’d done it in a side braid to keep it away and not hide the sparkling pearls at the top of the jumper. I didn’t have any make-up, but I never used much more than some powder and mascara anyway.

Hans had set up our breakfast on the balcony when I left the bathroom. He was on the phone again, this time speaking in German and I couldn’t understand a word of it. His voice was perfection in German though, the harsh language only complimenting his deep voice further. Perhaps I should learn German too? Would be neat, not that I need more languages to talk in but it’s nifty to know more than one language.

I sat down on one of the chairs covered in a thick fur and dragged two of the blankets over my legs. “Coat,” Hans said as I was getting comfortable and I looked up. He was indeed looking at me and then nodded toward the room. I grumbled a bit but got up to fetch my jacket, it wouldn’t make much of a difference but it was cold outside.

I stood stock still in the middle of the room. By the door, where his coat had hung before, was a beautiful winter coat. It was wine red with black fur along all hems and a black belt with a golden buckle around the middle. It looked as expensive as his and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how he’d managed to get me so many things in a mere few hours — and we had both been asleep. The amount of money he’d spent had my stomach twisting, but it wasn’t all bad. There was a warmth and joy there too, that I was worth something to him meant the world to me. Even if he showed his care in monetary ways far from my own reality I wasn’t going to just dismiss his chosen way of showing he cared.

I grabbed the coat and put it on while walking back to the balcony. It, too, fit perfectly of course and the lining on the inside was silky smooth and I felt toasty in it — and pretty too. Hans was still on his call but he spun his finger around, asking me to twirl and with another blush across my cheeks I did as he asked. It was really the least I could do. His smile made me smile even wider while I mouthed “thank you”. He nodded and said something harshly in German into the phone while I got back to my chair.

“Take care of it, we have four minutes, that’s it,” he finished in English and snapped the phone shut. “I like when you talk in German,” I blurted out while reaching for my coffee cup. “Is that so?” I nodded. “How come?” he continued. “Sounds very brazen and, I dunno, large? Like, the words sound large, and it suits your voice. Your voice is really good, you know. I like it a lot, I mean, it’s not a common voice, but it’s perfect for you, and I like it,” I blabbered while fidgeting with the blanket with my free hand. “I’m glad to hear it.” “But, what do you have four minutes to do? I heard you say that yesterday too,” I continued without a break and the look on Hans' face stopped my flow of words.

He sat down, adjusting his coat and grabbing his coffee. “How much did you hear yesterday?” he asked, almost too calmly. “Oh, not much, sorry, was it banking stuff I shouldn’t know about? Like about the stock market and stuff? I heard you mention stocks and time stuff, and you look like a banker so I just assumed,” I said, worry blooming in my gut I had done something he would be upset with me over. But he smiled at me, instantly taking away the worry. “It’s alright. Don’t fret,” he said and sipped his coffee. “I’ll tell you in due time, not now though. Now, it’s time to get some food in you.” And feed me he did. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, little cucumber sandwiches, and different cheeses on lightly toasted bread along with some fruits and juice. I ended up absolutely stuffed.

***

I turned off the shower, after having walked about the grounds most of the day I’d felt a need to clean up when we returned to the room after a lovely dinner down at the main restaurant of the country resort. It had been a really wonderful day and Hans hadn’t asked me to shut up once, he actually seemed to enjoy my blabbering. But I didn’t blabber as much with him, there was no need as he listened when I chatted. The man had patience, I’d give him that.

He was on his phone again, but lying on the bed this time while talking in German. He sounded very precise, as if he were giving instructions or something when I came out dressed in my silky pyjama set. He looked at me with a sweet smile before lifting the cover so I could have it over my legs as I sat cross-legged beside him. His hand landed atop my thigh, his finger stroking circles on the inside of it and I felt as if I would go mad with having his hand there.

He barked something into the phone before slamming it shut, tossing it to the foot of the bed. “Idiots,” he muttered before falling back on the pillow. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he kept going. “Hey, I know I’m not the brightest star in the sky but that’s a bit mean,” I said, a chuckle to my voice. “Not you, schnuki. Never you,” he murmured without looking at me, keeping his eyes closed while he let out a deep sigh.

I scooted down, laying on my side to watch his beautiful profile. Without thinking I reached up and began stroking the tips of my fingers through his lush beard. He hummed and seemed to relax. But that only lasted a few seconds. “I have to leave,” he said. “Leave?” I asked, alarms blaring in my head like bloody hounds after a fox. “For a few days, I would ask you to come with but the situation requires my undivided attention and you steal it most of the time,” he chuckled, as if he’d made some smart remark. “What do you want me to do?” I asked, fearing and wanting the answer. “Stay here, enjoy every luxury, and wait for me.” “In silk?” I teased and he finally looked up at me, a cheeky smile across his thin lips framed by that gorgeous beard I’d a second ago been touching.

He had me on my back a second later, twisting us so he lay between my legs with the cover between our bodies while he kissed me most deeply. Blimey, he really was a fantastic kisser, and every inch of me felt all tingly. I was turning into the giddy schoolgirl stereotype with him, and it felt good to be able to just relax and be.

“Will you wait for me?” he asked against my lips, only half breaking the kiss. “I’ll always wait for you. I don’t think I’m completely daft by thinking there’s something very special between us?” “My sweet treat,” he whispered, pecking my lips once. “You have no idea how special you are to me. One day, perhaps you’ll see, but until then I’ll do everything in my power to show you.” “Bloody hell,” I murmured. “You’re making it impossible not to fall for you, Hans.” “Good,” he said with a smile. “So you’ll wait here for me?” “Yeah, sure, I’ll wait right here, lavishing in silks and eating the best bacon and eggs.” He laughed at that, a deep and throaty sound I couldn’t ever get enough of. To think, all this became possible ‘cus some bloke knocked me over on the sidewalk, it really is quite the hallmark movie setup. Being the main character for once isn’t so bad.

Hans cuddled me for another hour while he asked how I used to celebrate Christmas, but that conversation took a nose-dive and he ended up pissed at how my family had treated me, so, we switched to talking about our favourite things instead. It was too easy talking with him, just being with him, and I didn’t have to wonder if I’d have to repeat myself, he always listened and remembered.

When he was dressing to leave I felt a knot grow in my stomach. There was still so much I didn’t know about him, where he was going and what he was doing were two of those things. But I didn’t ask, it felt like he didn’t want to share that with me yet. And, if he was a banker, perhaps there were some confidentiality issues with him sharing that stuff with me.

“You’ll be back, right?” “I’ll always come back for you, schnuki.” He kissed my forehead after that, stroked my cheek, and left while I remained staring at the door for a long moment. It felt so empty with him gone but he’d left me a little gift on the bedside table he’d instructed me to open once he’d left.

So, once I got out of my daze, I bolted over and grabbed it. I was as curious as a cat and ripped open the envelope only to find a little note and a wad of cash. Like, a whole wad of it. “Spend it all before I return, I dare you, my sweat treat. Oh, Hans, you’re too bloody much!” I laughed while checking just how much I was supposed to spend, I damn near keeled over at the full two grand he’d left behind. How am I supposed to spend two grand in just a couple of days? Can I give it away as tips? I mean, surely servants don’t earn that much and it’s Christmas time too. Would that count as spending it though?

I went to bed wondering where he was going, and what to do with the money he’d left for me, and how rich the man I was falling in love with really was. Thinking of all the gifts, where he had us staying, and now the cash he’d left behind, golly, it nearly made me uncomfortable to think of. I was a nobody, from a nowhere town, with a less-than-desirable place in life. How was I supposed to be in his life, and be what he wanted and needed? Was I enough for him at the end of it all? I still wasn’t quite sure why he liked me so much, then again, I knew very little of him too yet I was sure he was the one for me — so, was it really so silly to think he felt the same?

***

I’d given half of the money away. I just couldn’t spend it on myself. The concierge had been super helpful in ordering a silly-expensive coat for Hans that I used 800 of the 2,000 on and then I’d used about 200 buying some extra room service, and then some 1,000 as tips for the workers and a Secret Santa fund for the children at the Darlington Hospital which the resort had a little tin for with an information pamphlet about it all.

I also ended up buying a Christmas card from the reception that I sent off to Martha, letting her know I’d left and was doing well with the German gentleman she liked so much. I had reminded her to put her teeth in while eating and not give the fat little dog she loved so much too many treats and then ended it all with well-wishes and a Happy Christmas wish too.

I was lounging in bed two days after Hans had left, flicking through the channels on the TV while sipping some hot cocoa. I watched a commercial for dog's teeth and a treat that supposedly helped keep them clean and then the news came on as I sat myself up, cross-legged with my hands wrapped around the mug tightly.

“Tonight, the unfolding of events at a large Newcastle bank left many shocked. Just an hour ago, four men entered while wearing rifles, and in what must be a record-breaking unfolding of events, in a mere three minutes and fifty-six seconds, the vault had been cracked, emptied, and the men had fled the scene. No civilians were harmed, and no shots were fired. The police were at the scene less than a minute after the alarm was pulled, which was not until after the events had passed.” Gosh, it’s Christmas time, who’d rob people around Christmas? I wondered while sipping my coco, watching the screen. “As the police investigate, we have video footage of the men in question. Four white men, neither of their faces being captured on any of the cameras in the bank, but this is what they look like in the available footage.”

There was hot cocoa all over the bed, it had spurted out of my mouth as a silhouette I’d have known anywhere filled the screen along with three others. “FOUR MINUTES!” I shrieked while looking at the blurry image of Hans’ back, his perfect hair and straight shoulder dressed in that beautiful coat of his seemed to damn near burn my eyes. “The police say these men are extremely dangerous, with witnesses claiming three of the men spoke in German we implore all civilians to be wary and if you should see the men in question do not approach. Call the police straight off,” the news lady said further but I could barely hear it.

My mind ran rampant, spinning with all thoughts possible while the news turned to the next event of the evening. My hands cramped around the mug and I couldn’t stop my bloody lip from trembling or my stomach from filling with the sensation of dread. I’d been a daft muppet. A stupid, blabbering, silly-nilly living in a delulu world where rich German men who cared and listened were honest bankers and no danger to the world at all. Bloody hell! I’m in love with a criminal! I stuttered out a breath, one of my hands covering my mouth. “I’m in love… with a bank robber,” I whispered while I cried silent tears of hurt and worry.

I paced the length of the room for several minutes while trying to shut my mind up. The thoughts were an endless barrage of anxiously hurt and worried words I couldn’t stop. I tried in every manner possible to figure out what the bloody hell to do, how it all had gone to pot, how I wasn’t running toward a better life with an honest man who spoils and pampers me — no, no I was running away from an honest life to be with a bloody bank robber who I knew absolutely nothing about! “God, I’m so fucking stupid!”

The clock struck midnight, and still I paced. Back and forth, back and forth. My mind was in shambles but worse than that, my heart hurt and all my feelings were screwing themselves over to be at the center of attention. Why do I just want to crawl up in his arm, talk it alllll out and have him make it sound sane? Have I lost my marbles? Gone mad? Why am I not legging it right out of here?!

I fell asleep while tossing and turning, trying to make sense of my thoughts, arguing against myself — I mean, I hadn’t exactly seen his face or anything, but I knew it was Hans on that news channel. I knew it. Yet I fell asleep with the final thought of wanting him to hold me and make it all make sense.

***

I was a wreck. Everything was topsy-turvy. I had my bag packed but never left. I’d almost called a cab, yet I never did. I swore myself blue over having spent the money he had left — money I could have used to leave, hide, run away, and never speak a word of any of it ever again. Ha! Sure, as if I could ever keep my mouth shut.

I glared at the fire in the hearth of the room, I wasn’t unfamiliar with keeping a fire going to stay warm so stoking it and lighting it had been no issue. The warmth, that was another thing altogether. I felt cold to my bones, even if I was tingly warm on the outside. My nose was even slightly dusted with sweat from sitting so close to the roaring fire beyond the glass doors. The room was sweltering, the air a bit bad given how much oxygen the fire consumed, and I felt a bit dizzy, to be honest, but I couldn’t make myself move.

It had been three days since I saw the news. I’d gone over every bloody detail of everything since I met Hans several times. Especially the phone calls he’d been on. I could no longer go to delulu land and pretend it wasn’t him, I knew it was, there was no other explanation. How bloody perfect this is. The bank robber and the blabbering missy who can’t keep her mouth shut. He won’t come back to me, will he? How could he ever trust my blabbering mouth? We don’t even know each other! But that thought didn’t sit right with me.

After everything that had happened, I was wholly in love with the annoyingly handsome bloke with his charming smiles and cheeky smirks. No matter how silly that was, how stupid it made me, I couldn’t make myself leave when there was even a small chance he’d return for me. And what then? Hmm? Pretend you don’t know? Keep quiet about his secret so he won’t think you’ll blabber? Come on, Lulu… And why am I calling myself that god-awful name?!

“What the— Schnuki!” Hans' hands were on me the next second, I hadn’t even had time to turn my head when his voice filled the room. “Hans?” I asked, feeling disoriented and half-asleep. “What are you doing?!” His hands left me and he ran through the room in a blur of a grey coat. He threw the balcony doors open wide. Cold, crisp air flooded the room and I blinked rapidly.

He was on me the next second. “Up, up,” he said but then grabbed me and hoisted me up bridal style before carrying me out on the balcony. I inhaled with a gasp, feeling all the drowsiness disappear and my vision cleared while a string of curses (it sounded like) left Hans’ mouth, spoken in German before he sat me down on my feet.

His hands grabbed my warm face, the sweat now chilled by the December air. “Are you insane?” he asked in a rush while his eyes searched mine. “I was cold,” I managed to push out while my head ran away with me — all my thoughts coming back with a rush. “You could have died,” he snarled before tugging me close and wrapping me in his arms. Blimey, he smelled so good. Felt so infuriatingly good to be close to. “So could you,” I whispered. “What?” “Mr Bank Robber,” I only said, feeling too tired to deal with any of it now that he was finally back with me.

He stiffened all around me. “You know,” he hummed darkly, his voice far harsher than ever before. “Hard to miss when you were on the news.” “You recognised me from that ?” he asked, leaning back to look at me with widened eyes. “Pffth, I’d know you anywhere.” “Should I be worried or flattered?” “I don’t know, are you leaving me behind ‘cus I talk too much and you feel like you can’t trust me after everything I’ve trusted you with? Including leaving everything behind after meeting you only twice and knowing absolute piss about you?” My words turned angry, fearful really. “Schnuki, calm down for me,” Hans hushed gently, his features softening once more while he looked down at me as I shook in his arms.

He kissed my forehead. “You shouldn’t tell a woman to calm down, has the opposite bloody effect, ya’ know…” He chuckled at that. “I only said so because you feel very anxious, feel free to go off on me anytime you like, little treat. I don’t mind it.” “Sure, bet you're used to having people screaming at you and around you and blurting out nonsense in the heat of the moment.” “You never speak nonsense, don’t say such a thing,” he admonished. “But I do need to know if my secret is safe with you?” “Pffth, as if I could ever say anything to anyone that wouldn’t be good for the man I... You’re a foul git sometimes, you know that?” “Hmm? How so?” “Leaving me here while going out to rob—” “Inside,” Hans said, interrupting me. Course, right, inside, talking about bank robbing on the balcony where anyone can hear is stupid and dangerous, wow, gosh, I’m fucking this right up from the first minute. Stellar job, Lulu. Stellar job…

Hans closed the door behind us and swiftly grabbed my hand to lead me to the bed. He sat me down before closing the vent to the fire, smothering the flames to near embers, and then sat next to me while taking my hand in his once more. I stared at him, and he looked at me.

After a minute of silence, my tears began to flow. “You’re leaving me behind, aren’t you?” “Tell me why I’m a foul git sometimes,” he countered while squeezing my hand. I snivelled and took a deeper breath. “You just left me here, while going off to rob a giant national bank without a word about it. What if you’d been killed? Or captured? Or just hurt, or whatever? I would have just been bloody sitting her until they would have kicked me out for lack of reservation and money. You just left me behind without a bloody word!”

Hans looked at me, a baffled expression taking over his handsome face. “That’s what I’m a foul git for?” “No. You’re a foul git sometimes ‘cus you don’t talk to me. I talk to you all the time, about everything that pops into my head almost.” I glared at him, but it was hard with the tears and snivelling. “But I know nothing of you, like, not a bloody thing. Are you even German?” I asked, daring him to lie to me with my eyes but he just chuckled. “Schnuki, my sweet treat, my little bean spiller,” he said while tugging me closer. “I’m very much German. And you’re a delightful surprise, know that?” I scrunched up my face, swiping at my cheeks. “What?” “I was going to tell you, in due time. I mean, can’t really continue hoaxing you. You’d want to know about the money, my trips, my never staying in one place for long, and such things, no?” I nodded. “Yet here you are, a snivelling mess bawling about me not telling you from the very first moment I’m an international criminal, a successful one mind you,” he said with cheek to his voice and a smirk I couldn’t help but chuckle at.

Hans turned slightly, making us nearly come face to face on the bed. “I knew you were special the moment I met you. Just something about you,” he said and my shoulders softened at the sweet words. “Didn’t think you’d be quite this sweet and understanding, but I’m glad to have been wrong for once.” “You’re not getting out of this by sweet-talking me, spill the tea. All of it. If I’m going to follow an international criminal all over the bloody globe I’ll be damned if I don’t know everything, ‘kay?” I said, feeling as if the world had turned upside down. “I won’t let you leave me behind like everyone else. You’ve ruined any chance of that with everything you’ve done and said so far, I don’t want to be the abandoned puppy anymore.”

Hans kissed my knuckles, letting his lips stroke over them a bit before he lowered our hands again. It sent a shiver down my spine and I really had gone completely bonkers because of him. Not any worse a life than what I had, better even perhaps. Always wanted to see the world, maybe I’ll get to do just that now, even if it is with a criminal, I’ll be safe. I know it. “A dime for your thoughts?” I smiled at the wrongful expression. “Just thinking about seeing the world and being safe, I think I’ll be more safe with you than anyone else.” “An international criminal?” “Well, yeah, sure, but you’re not just any criminal, are you? I mean, obviously it’ll be harrowing and less than fun at times, I’m sure you’re not always staying in posh settings like these,” I said, waving my hand about the room while Hans nodded reluctantly.

“But still, I think you’ll keep me safe, won’t you?” “Always, my sweet treat.” “And, I haven’t recalled a single lie you’ve told, that I know of at least.” “Never lied to you.” “Yeah, I know, and that makes me feel better about this whole thing. I mean, not your fault I didn’t press on the whole bank man thing, right? And besides, you treat me like… like I mean the world to you and you’re always listening, and talking to me like you’ve really heard what I said and you’re very caring, and sweet, and just, yeah, good, you know? It’s not like—” Hans kissed me at that, interrupting my blabbering that had turned faster with each word as my anxiety and need to explain myself as fully as possible shot through the roof.

He stopped my scrambling thoughts and kissed me until I was relaxed once more. “Didn’t mean to stop you from talking, you’re free to talk as much as you need, but you were getting too anxious, schnuki.” “T-Thank you,” I exhaled. “You’re right, I just… Just need to explain myself. I always feel a need to explain myself.” “I understand.” “Yeah, no, sure, I know you do, I’m just sorry I can’t stop myself, I know you understand, and you don’t mind, and all that, and I’m really grateful for— Oh, right, you know, sorry…” Hans chuckled at my embarrassed smile and stroked my cheek once more with his warm hand.

“Do you want to join me, then?” he asked, no pressure to it, just genuine wondering. “If you don’t mind.” “I want nothing else than have you with me at all times possible.” “Then yes, yes, please. I want to be with you, Hans.” “And I with you, but we’ll have to work on that anxiety of yours. Sometimes you’ll have to be on your own, but I will always come back for you.” “Promise?” “I promise.”

He held me tight, kissing the top of my head while I drew a deep sigh of relief, feeling like an overfilled kettle boiling too wildly, all my emotions spilling over. “You gotta cool it with the whole giver of gifts thing though… I couldn’t spend the money you left behind, I gave half of it away…” “I knew you would… You’re goodness and sweetness, all wrapped up like a delicious treat and that wrapping will be of the finest kind imaginable. I’ll make sure of it.” “Hans!” I scolded with a laugh. “I will always spoil you, schnuki. You deserve nothing less than the best of everything, always.” Then I hope you’ll enjoy the coat I got for you… A gift from you to me, became a gift from me to you, don’t really know how valid that is but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Now, my little treat,” Hans said after a moment, “how would you feel about spending Christmas in Alaska?” “Alaska?!” My eyes were wide with something I could only think to look like unbridled joy. “It’s perfect for the winter holiday, no?” “I’d love to,” I confessed. “Thought you would,” he said with one of those charming smiles and a twinkle in his clear eyes.

Blimey, I was going to Alaska with an international Criminal. What a way to spend my first Christmas away from home. Bloody hell I wanna call Dad and tell him to fucking shove his mints up his arse, I was going to see the whole damn world with the man of my dreams. “I think I made it,” I mumbled into Hans' chest. “Whatever you thought before those words, I agree, sweetie. I feel the same way,” Hans whispered before holding me even tighter while I inhaled the wonderful scent of him.

“I… Hans, I love you…” “Schnuki, my sweet treat, my Christmas miracle,” Hans said in such a deep tone it was difficult to hear him clearly. “I love you too, since the moment you smiled at me for the first time.” I shivered at the sweet words and buried my face in his neck. Life was so perfectly imperfect I couldn’t keep the laughs and tears from spilling over. I was where I was supposed to be, where life would take us I couldn’t even begin to think about but I knew, no matter what, Hans would always come back for me and I would always be his. My gentleman criminal.

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I just love this serial fic so much, gosh, feels so good they sorted it out and have mutually agreed they re to stay together and just-, travel the world and care for each other and just-, waaaaaaah! 😍👏 I know I was a day late with this one, I'm really sorry but I hope you feel these nearly 7k makes up for it - and you'll still get today's fic later today as well! I'm gonna write at record speed today - have to, my entire weekend is full of Christmas celebrating (I'll squeeze in some writing as often as possible so you'll get fics daily though).

Gosh, feels a bit sad to say bye-bye to these two, maybe I'll revisit them at some point in the future but I can't make any promises. It's really difficult to write this one for me (the literal language use I mean) so we'll see. I kinda like leaving them here too - it's a sweet ending that's closed but also open 🥰

Q: What's something you really enjoyed/liked/feel good about that happened or you did during 2023? A: for me, it's a few things but publishing my OW writing is probably the biggest thing really 🥰👏

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #rickmas #hans gruber #gruber x oc #hans gruber fic #christmas fic #alan rickman #rickmaniac

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lnwrcauli · 8 months ago

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Ms. Raven the Eccentric Engine [NWR AU]

History

Ms. Raven (or Vanessa to give this eccentric engine her proper name) was built in 1910 by the Darlington Works for the North Eastern Railway. She worked out of Gateshead for a spell before being loaned out to the North Western Railway in 1922 to cover for Edith being out of action. As traffic demands ramped up in the mid twenties, it was decided to extend her loan. She managed the Wild Nor' Wester when Gordon was ill, as well as fast passenger services and mail trains. Some say that all the constant high speeds got to her smokebox, as the others found her quite an odd engine indeed. She would ramble endlessly about conspiracies, French spies and shadow governments. The other engines quickly learned to tune her out, however.

During the Second World War, Ms. Raven was recalled to Gateshead to help with the war effort. Very little from her war service is documented and she refuses to speak of it. She was returned to Sodor in 1945 and bounced between engine sheds until 1949 when she was stabled full-time at Tidmouth. She continued with her pre-war duties until 1958, when British Railways recalled her to Darlington for scrap. Not one to let one of his most faithful engines meet the torch, he purchased her and had her sent to Crovan's Gate Works, where she was outshopped in NWR Lined Black and given the number 20.

From 1960, her workload on the express began to slowly decrease until 1980 when she was replaced entirely. Feeling hurt and betrayed by the loss of her favourite job, Ms. Raven started to act out. She'd get rough with wagons, be sluggish to respond to her driver's controls and occasionally outright refuse to steam. This all came to a head in 1981 when she purposely derailed outside of Tidmouth Yard, fouling the points to the shed. Sir Topham Hatt I came up to her and told her in no uncertain words that she had to get her act together or she'd be sold to a museum. Swiftly pulling herself together, Ms. Raven accepted her new life hauling fast passenger and goods trains, though she secretly envies Pip and Emma.

Personality

Ms. Raven is a very eccentric individual indeed, she'll talk your head, smokebox or grille off about whatever conspiracy theory her driver found her recently. Despite being a steam locomotive, she technically has an online presence through her driver, who documents her ramblings on a blog website. She's usually quite reclusive, but seems to have taken a large liking to Alderney. She's usually quite wary of newcomers, often citing one of her numerous conspiracies. All in all, Ms. Raven may be eccentric and odd, but can have her nice moments too.

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notasapleasure · 11 months ago

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The world turning at his pace

aka that time in the back of the van

Cassian Andor/Brasso (Andor TV series), Explicit, modern AU, friends with benefits, idiots in love, plot what plot/porn without plot. i.e. the same fic I write every time, Pinky. Title inspired by lyrics from Elbow - An Audience with the Pope. 6,988 words. *julia dreyfus haha what the fuck.gif* CW a smidge of setting typical homophobia, but don't worry there's also gratuitous insulting of Rupert Murdoch.

I was tired from van driving and demanding Brassian smut, or prompts for it, and @distressednoise obliged in the most ingenious way. THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME, FRIEND.

Not on ao3 yet, this is a special treat(??) for my tumblr sickos until I can be bothered uploading it properly.

---

It should have been a simple job. Brasso picked up the van - full - and drove it to all the addresses on the list he was given until it was no longer full. Then, in the darkness, he turned back towards the depot, which lay a straightforward few hundred miles down the motorway, and anticipated being back in his own bed by dawn.

He was somewhere around Penrith when a ringtone interrupted the Shipping Forecast on the van radio. He'd forgotten his damned mobile phone was still charged; no matter how long he left it in the depths of his jacket pocket it never seemed to die. And when it rang, it was only ever one person calling - the same person who had set the ringtone to a tinny electronic version of Auld Lang Syne in honour of Brasso's rum-fuelled rendition last December.

With the phone beeping incessantly, Brasso cursing, and the ubiquitous Border rain lashing down on the windscreen, the van pulled into the hard shoulder of the M6 with its hazards flashing. For a moment, Brasso sighed at the percussive beat of the wipers and the indicators, then the ringtone started up again, grinding out its stately rendition of the Scottish ballad with the kind of patience - the kind of necessity - that didn't hang up early.

After a swift rummage in the hi-vis jacket lying on the passenger seat, Brasso raised the little device to his ear. "Yes? What's up?"

A lorry steamed past in the outside lane and Brasso felt his teeth rattle as the road shook beneath it.

On the other end of the line a familiar voice smirked directly into his ear: sweet, sharp and vicious as tequila with all the chasers. "Heard you were on a job up north?"

"How did you hear that?" Brasso shook his head, figuring Cassian would pick up the gesture well enough by his tone.

"Word travels," came the cryptic answer.

"What word? I only left this - yesterday morning."

"And you've been busy, lots to deliver, I know..."

"What is it you want, Cass...?"

"I thought if you were in the area..."

"What area?"

"If you were in the area I could really use a lift. I'm out of cash and I've got to get back to London..."

"What area, Cassian?"

The answer, sheepish, was mumbled so Brasso had to think hard to work it out.

"Stockton? On Tees? What the fuck, Cassian..."

"I mean, I'm near there. Trying to get a lift to - " as another lorry rumbled past Brasso's van he heard a horn honk down the line and Cassian unleashed a barrage of colourful curses in English and Spanish. "Yeah well fuck you too! I'm already in the ditch! Hello? Yeah, Brasso, I'm heading to Darlington. On the main road. How long will you be?"

Brasso mentally totted up the extra miles, the slow roads over the Pennines to the other side of the country. At least there'd be fewer rude freight vehicles that way, he supposed, as another one buzzed him with an indignant honk of its own.

"An hour and a half?"

"An hour?! I thought you were in the area!"

"Cass, 'the North' is a pretty big area. I'll come as quick as I can."

"Well do," Cassian pouted down the line. "It's wet, my socks are soaked already. You should break the speed limit or I might die of hypothermia."

Brasso let out a sigh. "If you get there first, wait at the petrol station on the bypass, ok?"

"If I'm not killed in a hit and run before then..."

"All right, Cass. See you soon."

"Yeah. Yeah, fine. Thanks..." there was warmth and genuine gratitude in that last word, at least.

Brasso flung the phone aside and rubbed his face. It never did to ask why with Cassian - it was best just to pick up the pieces and see what could be salvaged afterwards. He flicked the dial of the radio along until some sort of cheesy commercial station replaced the sober tones of the BBC. Penrith to Darlington, in a storm, as fast as he could go - this required power ballads.

Humming along to the closing bars of Total Eclipse of the Heart, he switched off the hazards and pulled out into the dark, momentarily quiet lane of the motorway. He cycled through the van's gears with ruthless efficiency until the engine sounded like a Formula One racer and the chassis began to rattle. Empty, the van sure could move, but the faster he went the more he expected to take off at the slightest bump.

Ten songs and one cursory news bulletin later, with the same handful of adverts repeated time and again between them, and Brasso was bringing the van in a loop around Darlington's centre, slipping beneath the sulphur-orange street lights as the fuel light glowed sadly up at him. He was running on fumes, but he'd said to meet at a garage, and his employers had given him a cash bonus to cover the cost of fuel.

There was no sign of Cassian there, however, and Brasso worried Cass had found a completely different place to wait. He checked the time again and filled the tank. He bought an assortment of foodstuffs and drinks from the kiosk when paying for the fuel and looked around as though all it would take to summon Cassian was a tube of Pringles, an energy drink, and a packet of gummy sweets.

Under normal circumstances, Brasso wasn't convinced it wouldn't have worked, but Cassian evidently hadn't reached the garage yet and remained stubbornly absent. Brasso got back in the van, peered into the drizzly night, and slowly continued onwards towards Stockton.

Trust Cassian to be walking along a duel carriageway on a night heavy with fog and rain. Would he be wearing hi-vis? Would he hell. Brasso switched the radio off and leaned over the steering wheel to stare at the edge of the road. He slowed to a speed that would really annoy his fellow road-users, only there were so few about at this hour of the morning.

He was starting to wonder if he'd missed Cass in all the spray and the spume when something caught his eye on the other side of the road - a bedraggled scarecrow loitering at a bin in a layby. Frowning, Brasso pulled into the inside lane to try to get a better look - and got undertaken by a furious white Audi for his troubles.

He took the next exit and followed the convoluted directions that would lead him back onto the road going in the other direction, and was soon approaching the layby.

Cassian fell upon the door to the passenger seat and was inside, dripping on all Brasso's stuff, before the van had even stopped.

"Jesus what took you so long?"

"What were you doing over here?!"

"What?"

"I was coming from the west, why were you on this side of the road?"

"I told you, I was trying to get a lift!"

"But you knew I was coming, and I'd be on the other side!"

Cassian was rummaging in the glove compartment and finally found what he'd been looking for: Brasso's tobacco, papers and filters. "Oh my god, I need this..."

The instant turbulence inside the cabin when Cass arrived meant Brasso hadn't noticed the van's grumpy beeping until they were up to 80, heading back towards the dull orange glow of Darlington and its corona of light pollution. "Cass - seat belt."

Cassian made a sound - acknowledgement, oral eye roll, impatient sigh all rolled up together - and fidgeted, speedily rolled fag hanging from his lips as he sought the end of the seat belt.

Brasso swore he could hear Cass's clothes squelch. That long trenchcoat hadn't been waterproof since before Cass inherited it from his foster-father. It was like Cass thought that even repairing or properly maintaining it would cause it to lose its connection with Clem.

He settled, though, and the windows started to mist with condensation as the van's heating warmed him up.

By the time they were back at the junction for the A1 some unfortunate HGV driver had aquaplaned themselves into a horizontal position across both lanes, which were closed until the lorry could be moved. Thwarted, Brasso tried to give a good-natured nod to the police officer redirecting them - as Cassian kept his head down and his collar up - and speculated on a new route through the countryside, meandering a way over to the A19.

It was gone 3am by the time they passed Thirsk; Cassian's teeth were chattering though the heating was all the way up and the van cabin smelled of burning dust and hot plastic. The air was tropical with the moisture still steaming off him, but the heat was making Brasso sleepy as hell, and between them he and Cassian had already finished the bag of gummies and the energy drinks. Cassian hadn't told Brasso what he'd been doing in the North East and Brasso hadn't asked.

"Back in London tonight?" Brasso stifled a yawn against the back of his hand as they drove past a picnic spot, thinking wistfully that he could pull over there and sleep in the cabin if he didn't have a soggy passenger in the other seat.

Cassian made an ambivalent noise. His arms were wrapped tight around his torso, his elbows gripped in his hands. "No...just before tomorrow." Noticing Brasso's incredulous look, he added "I mean, this afternoon? He won't be looking for me until then."

Best not to ask - always best not to ask. But Brasso gave Cassian another sideways look that said he was very much tempted to ask.

"Shall we stop?" Cass released an elbow so he could chew on the fingernails of the hand that had been holding it.

"What?"

"That's why you're asking, right? You've been driving for hours. We should probably stop."

Brasso had been trying very hard not to think about stopping or sleeping, lest the very idea of either be so tempting he'd just succumb then and there. "No B&B's gonna be open at this time of night, Cass."

"We can sleep in the back of the van!"

The suggestion was so immediate Brasso guessed Cassian had been considering it for some time already.

"Have you seen back there? It's filthy. Last job was a bunch of reclaimed garden gnomes, they came with half the bloody garden!"

"I guess the other option is you drive till you pass out and then we get beds in A&E," Cassian hissed as Brasso had to blink and swerve when someone in the other lane sped past without dimming their headlights.

With a curse, Brasso assented. He told Cassian to keep an eye out for laybys, though now they were back on the motorway he figured they'd just have to wait for a truck stop that wasn't already full. They were past Wetherby and had finished the Pringles too by the time they found one, and made a dash from the cabin to the rear of the van through rain that was thinner but no less persistent than it had been further north.

Cassian hopped into the back as Brasso was still hoisting himself up and trying not to hit his head on the roof. He wrinkled his nose and crouched to rummage through the crumpled pile of packing sheets, looking for something dry, clean and comfortable to lie on.

Nothing met all three criteria, but a combination of loosely folded sheets made a sort of pillow and a cover for the cold metal base of the van. Everything smelled of mud and oil and antifreeze, but that was soon disguised by the smoke of the cigarettes Brasso rolled for them while Cassian wriggled out of his wet trousers. In the dark of the van he didn't bother hiding the fact he was watching Cassian, and Cassian didn't pretend not to notice. An ember-lit outline of sharp limbs, his eyes glittering and fathomless, Cassian sat there in his boxers and t-shirt, smirking around his fag at Brasso as he waited on the simply arranged square of bedding, his knees drawn up and his arms draped loosely around them.

Taking his time, Brasso dragged his eyes away from Cass and unlaced his boots. He left his socks on, but in an unspoken concession to Cass's continued shivering, to the goose-bumps on his legs and the way his body hair stuck out from each one, he pulled off his trousers and unbuttoned his shirt.

The cold air made his own hair stand on end and his nipples harden, but the light of their cigarettes was almost as warm as the looks they each cast across the cramped space.

"Budge up then," Brasso muttered, stubbing out his fag end against the metal roof and chucking the butt aside.

Cassian stubbed his own cigarette out and plunged them into darkness as Brasso shuffled in close beside him. He pulled his hi-vis over the both of them, though it left his legs cold, and tucked himself around Cass's back - bare chest against the still-damp fabric of his t-shirt, knees to the back of Cass's knees, and Cass's round little arse perched neatly against Brasso's crotch. Brasso dutifully buried his cheek against Cass's neck and closed his eyes - though it was so dark inside that he couldn't tell the difference if he opened them again.

The rain outside continued its dance on the flat metal roof, not thunderingly heavy, but in loud, fat drops that always seemed to come and jolt Brasso's eyes open just as he thought he was finally relaxing into sleep.

Then again, he didn't feel tired anymore. The nictotine buzz was coursing through him, and Cassian had warmed up in his arms - mostly, though ice-cold toes sometimes curled round to prod at Brasso's shins. It was obvious by his breathing that he wasn't asleep either, and with a contrived cough to clear his throat he pushed back against Brasso in a way that compelled Brasso to bite his lip.

It was always going to come to this from the minute his phone rang, Brasso knew. It happened off and on, the way Cassian came and went in and out of the lives of those around him. It had been happening off and on for some years now, actually. If Cass needed a favour, Brasso obliged when no one else would be soft or daft enough to do so; Cassian, perpetually broke and perennially aware of the effect his big brown eyes had on people, paid Brasso back in love bites and nail marks. It would have made Brasso feel like just another of Cass's lovelorn, disposable conquests -only with him, Cass did one thing he never did with the others - he kept coming back when he needed Brasso. By now they had both become quite good at knowing the steps that would ensure things continued this way and Cass would keep on coming back as long as Brasso kept on releasing him so he'd return again. It was a simple sort of dance with very little discussion involved and a lot of implicit assumptions - it needed to be, given the darkness of the back of the van.

Once more, Cassian wriggled against Brasso until he forced a grunt of acknowledgement from Brasso's lips. Brasso fidgeted in turn, trying to make sure nothing essential was trapped under Cass's bodyweight.

Cass twisted his head around, his messy hair catching in Brasso's nose and mouth. "You still awake?"

"Yes I'm still awake, you won't stay still for five seconds!"

Inevitably, with the pressure of Cass's arse against him, Brasso had already felt the first stirrings of heat in his groin. When Cass detected it too, he shuffled back against Brasso's twitching cock, ensuring it would harden between his arse cheeks. Again, Brasso bit his bottom lip and turned his face towards Cassian's neck. His arm tightened around Cass's body and he breathed in the smell at the nape of his neck - sweat and rain and cheap laundromat detergent, cigarette smoke and ground spice and something astringent: counterfeit ink? Cleaning fluid? Machine oil? Probably a palimpsest of all three.

Cass gripped onto the arm round him with one hand and reached behind him with the other, fingers questing for Brasso's arse to give it a squeeze and pull him closer.

Finally, Brasso let himself open his mouth against the back of Cass's neck and scrape his teeth over clammy skin, placing a kiss on each protruding vertebra he could reach, nuzzling his way down the back of Cass's t-shirt until he felt the vibration of a whine in Cass's chest beneath his arm.

When Cass moved with the kind of urgency that followed no force on earth could hold him - he shuffled his hips round and his arms snaked across Brasso's side and under his neck as Cass pressed close to him in the dark, his nose bumping against Brasso's cheek and his lips seeking out Brasso's lips. Salty flavouring from the crisps they'd shared and a hint of sugar from the energy drink coated his tongue as he thrust it into Brasso's mouth, kissing him hard and hungrily.

Brasso let himself be turned half onto his back by the attention, Cass pushing aggressively down on him, his hands clamping Brasso's jaw to hold him just how he wanted, before one restless set of fingers trailed down the open front of his shirt, raking through chest hair, carelessly catching at the ticklish curls on his belly and then plunging into the waistband of Brasso's boxers.

Brasso's hips bucked into the touch, but he could feel a rivet on the floor of the van's uneven surface digging into his shoulder blade, and it wasn't quite the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain that did it for him.

Cass didn't understand that from the sound Brasso made in his mouth though and redoubled his efforts down Brasso's underwear, fingers crooking deep under his balls and palm rubbing down on his cock. For a moment it did actually balance the pain in his shoulder quite well, and then Brasso managed to break free of the kisses, a hand gripping the back of Cassian's hair like he was dragging an overenthusiastic dog away from last night's takeaway on the street floor.

Cass bared his teeth in a similar way to a dog, too - Brasso knew because they dragged on his lip as he pried Cass away and shoved him over onto his back with a grunt.

Cass released his cock and dug fingernails into Brasso's chest instead, tangling in the thick dark hairs there and tugging so Brasso's skin prickled with sore heat.

Swearing as he kissed the squirming, sharp-toothed thing beneath him, Brasso fumbled for Cass's face in the dark, raking his own fingers through Cass's beard and hair. He dropped his hips heavily against Cass's and was in no doubt that the noise Cass made was a sign of appreciation at the rough handling. Brasso moved his grip from Cass's face to his hips and ground his body down against Cass's, groaning at the friction between his boner and the two layers of thin cloth separating it from Cass's equally hard cock.

It made Cass release another sound, and he didn't bother disentangling his fingers from Brasso's chest hair before ripping one hand away to yank the back of Brasso's boxers down and land an open-palmed slap on the arse cheek he exposed.

"Fuck!" Brasso muttered in surprise as the stinging sensation lingered while Cass's restless hand worked at pulling his boxers further down.

It just gave Cass another opportunity to clamp down on his lower lip and suck until it felt bruised, so Brasso relented and freed a hand to assist in the removal of his underwear.

The boxers were barely off his arse cheeks when Cass started wriggling away anew, slipping down beneath him towards the doors at the back of the van.

"What're you - ? Cass, where are you going?" Brasso had to hold still and listen to the hollow banging of Cassian's shoulders and arse squirming against the floor of the van as he shuffled beneath him.

The first indication he had of where Cass had ended up was the hair tickling his navel, then a breathy giggle against his stomach, followed by lips, teeth, lips, and a hand between his legs as Cass tried to manoeuvre the two of them so he could get Brasso's cock in his mouth.

It wasn't easy to prop himself up how Cass wanted without hitting his head on the roof of the van in the dark, and Brasso was only partially successful in the endeavour, but he wasn't going to spend long contemplating the bruise on the back of his head when Cass was insistently whining "Come on Brasso, fuck my mouth, I'm right here!" between swallowing as much as he could of Brasso's cock and tugging on his arse, trying to get a rhythm going.

Scrabbling in the pitch black for a hand hold, Brasso eventually found one of the straps for securing cargo and got his weight on his knees so he could thrust down into the darkness and the invisible, wet warmth of Cass's mouth. Without being able to see what was happening he could only concentrate on the sensation of tongue and pressure, sucking and - more often than he meant to cause it - gagging. Cass's fingers would tighten on his arse and he'd try to hold Brasso close even as he spluttered and choked. Brasso could feel the back of Cass's throat pulse defensively against the pressure of his cock and always slowed down afterwards, tried more measured movements, but Cass would crane his neck and bear down on him until he could dictate the angle of Brasso's hips - with just the softest threat of teeth as he did. The third time Brasso had to listen to him retching in the dark he pulled back and sat down heavily on what turned out to be his hi-vis jacket.

"Where'd you go?" Cassian said sulkily, but Brasso was already rummaging by touch for the pockets of the jacket. He found the lube and condoms first, then his lighter.

"Here," he flicked his thumb over the spark wheel and held the plate down, squinting past the little blue flame to meet Cassian's eyes.

His cheeks were flushed deep red and his lips were shining with spit. His hair was a wreck and his beard was tousled against its natural growth, his t-shirt was half shucked up and his boxers were peaked like a circus tent.

Brasso stifled a sigh at the sight of him, but Cassian didn't hide the flash of lust in his own eyes at whatever the light had revealed of Brasso himself. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and moved like he was about to pounce.

"Wait! Wait wait wait!" Brasso held a hand up with a condom held between his fingers and offered Cass the lighter.

He pulled a face and took the condom instead, raising the corner of the foil to his mouth.

"Don't you fucking rip it," Brasso held the lighter steady and glared at him, eyebrows raised in warning.

Cassian's own eyes widened - as if! - and he daintily tore the corner before opening the packet with his fingers. "Can't believe you don't trust I'm clean," he muttered around a smirk as he leaned forwards to fit the condom on top of Brasso's prominent boner.

"Like I even want to know where you've been," he answered, feeling his throat tighten with longing as he watched Cassian's fingers move nimbly down his cock, rolling the sheath over it. "Besides, you never even ask where I might have been."

Cassian looked up at him quickly, sharply, his lips hidden by his moustache and his eyes cast into uncanny darkness by the side-lighting of the little flame. He seemed so alien to Brasso when he looked like that, like a creature from another world entirely. "I can only imagine," Cassian purred, lavishing Brasso's cock with a series of firm strokes.

He leaned over then and blew out the flame of the lighter, which Brasso didn't bother holding onto and chucked aside into some hollow corner of the van.

His eyes were confused by the afterglow of the flame, but he knew where Cassian's pants were anyway and dived for them with both hands, pulling them away as Cass flailed his legs to speed up the process. It didn't really achieve the desired effect, just earned Brasso a fat lip from the knee he took to the chin, but with a crack of stitches stretching the offending item of clothing was removed and Brasso fell upon Cass guided by smell alone, following salt and sweat and musky warmth. He pushed his tongue into the base of Cass's cock and worked it against his balls, sucking the loose skin on them and then running his mouth up the taut underside of his cock.

Cass whined and squirmed and grasped at Brasso's hair, his shoulder, his arm, seeking the hand with the lube in it so he could take the bottle and open it. He poured it - mostly - on Brasso's fingers, though some dropped onto the skin of his hip and he wriggled and flinched as it trickled a cold track over his body.

Brasso felt his way between Cass's arse cheeks as he mouthed Cass's cock, probing the darkness for the place that gave way to him, eager and accommodating to the first finger, tighter around the second.

Cassian made a desperate sound and bucked his hips up into Brasso's touches. "Come on, come on..." he complained, then sucked in a sharp breath as Brasso pushed the pair of fingers deep inside him. Cass moaned, and the sound made Brasso feel like he'd been kicked in the solar plexus by a velvet boot. He made his own grunt of pleasure against Cass's nutsack and lowered his hips to the van floor, his knees bent and feet kicking absurdly in the air because he was too close to the door to lie down flat. The van floor was cold and hard under his cock and he squirmed his hips again and pushed his fingers inside Cass to help prop himself up.

Cass's body clenched round him and Cass let out a hoarse cry - "Oh, fuck, do that again!"

Brasso tried, but the pressure wasn't as great now he was stable, so he pulled his fingers out and slapped his hand on Cass's hip. "Lube - where is it?"

"Oh, do you have to? Just fuck me..." Cass's knees knocked against his sides and he tried to draw him closer with legs tangling around his torso.

"I think some would be a good idea, Cass."

"There was some on your fingers already. I threw it over by the lighter. It's not worth going looking, just come here," he got his ankles crossed behind Brasso and tugged him forwards until their stiff cocks were trapped together between them and Brasso's tongue was somewhere halfway down Cass's throat again.

He made the most of it while he was there, rolling his hips and rubbing against Cass until the sounds Cass was making in his mouth grew desperate and high-pitched.

Abruptly, ruthlessly, Brasso pulled away from him and grasped for the inside of his thighs, squeezing soft, sparsely haired flesh aside and pushing forwards with his cock. He released one of Cass's legs so he could guide his head up to Cass's hole and test the resistance of his body.

He was tight, but still keen, insisting he wanted Brasso to fuck him hard even as Brasso began to ease inside him.

He shuffled forwards on his knees as best he could, realising there was no packing sheet beneath him, wherever they'd ended up. His head and shoulders were bowed so he didn't knock the roof with his head again, and he braced himself with one hand against the roof and the other on Cass's hip, holding him steady as he pushed deeper in a careful, slow way that brought guttural sounds of impatience from the darkness where Cassian lay.

Once he was all the way in he heard Cass release a shaky breath and felt him bring his hips up towards Brasso's carefully.

"You good?" Brasso moved his body in a small pulse against Cassian's just to make sure he got a genuine response, feeling him clench and force himself to relax.

Cass whimpered, but it was lust more than discomfort that made his voice shake when he replied "Yes, fucking come on!"

Brasso grunted acknowledgement, like it made no odds to him, but he thrust carefully, in measured movements that would feel hard to Cass but kept much of Brasso's power in reserve for now. He got in as close as he could, his knees splayed to either side of Cass's body and Cass's cock held gently but firmly in his hand as he bucked his hips against him.

Bit by bit, Brasso let his hips and hand speed up and put more power into the cycle of his thrusts, and he felt Cass's body rock and slide beneath him, his attempts at getting purchase somewhere on his surroundings failing as Brasso's body pounded solidly against his. Cass's legs floundered at Brasso's sides, his knees knocking against his ribcage, and he struggled to assert any control over the pace or rhythm from where he was, caught and held by the movement of Brasso's body.

He was getting louder with each moment too, helpless sounds and the back of his throat turning to hoarse, choked repetitions of "Ah!" that got louder the harder Brasso managed to thrust inside him, the more in time he could make the pumping of his hips and of his hand on Cass's cock.

Brasso's eyes fell shut in the darkness as he focussed on the rhythm and the feeling of Cassian's insides, hot and tight, yielding yet strong around him. Behind closed eyes, Brasso imagined what he couldn't see in the dark: Cass's open mouth and his eyelids falling heavily over a heated gaze; his chest rising and falling intermittently as he gasped for breath, but jerking with each coming together of their bodies; his nipples showing hard through the threadbare fabric of his t-shirt and the hair on his belly starting to gleam with sweat where it appeared at the hemline.

Brasso's eyes were still closed when Cass came hot and gushing, spilling over Brasso's hand and spattering his belly and navel. The feeling of it - a surprise in the dark, no matter how inevitable it had been - made Brasso himself come, heat digging deep in the pit of his body and rolling up like a riptide, dragging him away from himself, rushing him into some abyss where he forgot, for a moment, that the back of the van was dark, and thought he'd gone blind with ecstasy.

He let himself lie against Cass for a while afterwards, and Cass held him tight too, his legs tangled around Brasso's and his fingers holding the back of Brasso's head like, Brasso imagined, he'd hold a man beneath water until he drowned.

Sleepily, Brasso mouthed kisses along Cassian's neck, and Cass ran fingers over Brasso's skull. Brasso fidgeted and wrung out the last remnants of pleasure from his hips with little movements that didn't do much more than allow his soft cock to slip out of Cass's arse. Cass moved his head to nose and chin Brasso's face aside until he could be kissed, now with less use of teeth, with more sweat in Cass's moustache, with even more left unsaid than went unsaid during foreplay. Brasso imagined it was the kind of kiss the heroes of cheap romance novels got at the end of the story, and, like them, he prepared for the closing of this little fantasy they shared - until the next time Cass needed him. For now they'd sleep well, wrapped round each other like weeds, and when they woke they'd finish the drive, maybe get breakfast somewhere and bitch about the morning headlines like nothing had happened, and Brasso would drop Cassian off, and they wouldn't meet again for weeks or months, and then they'd do it all over as and when they needed to.

This had been a particularly good encounter though, Brasso admitted to himself as he pulled the condom off and knotted it before slinging it away into the darkness. Probably meant it would be a while before they did this again, each one nervous of what it meant that the most satisfying fuck they knew was someone they'd never publicly acknowledge as more than a well-worn old friend. Really, Brasso thought with a degree of relief as he nuzzled his face into Cass's shoulder, it was a good job they didn't talk about this. He'd only go and say something stupid, after all, like telling Cass he'd leave the rest of the world to rot and serve no one but him if the self-sabotaging little bastard ever cared to ask.

He didn't need to though - that was the point. He already knew - didn't he?

Too sleepy to worry overly about this, Brasso fumbled around for the hi-vis again and swept it over their shoulders, shuffling until they lay brow to brow, shoulder to shoulder, their lower legs twisted one on top of the other. Cass's breath tickled his face, and Cass's wrists sandwiched the arm Brasso lay on protectively between them.

He didn't remember lying awake or agonising about a thing - next he knew there was a cool, silvery dawn light in his eyes and a cold breeze on his feet. The van's doors were open and voices sparred tetchily outside.

Brasso sat up and cast about for his boxers, pulling them on as he tried to pick up the words being spoken outside. His back and shoulders ached from sleeping on the hard, uneven bed of the van, and he longed for coffee and a cigarette to clear the fog in his mind and his mouth.

"I said come over here, you little poof! I've got a sausage bap right here for you!"

Brasso sighed at the sound of a trucker yelling across the layby and quickened his work as he pulled his boot laces tight. Peace had been nice while it lasted.

He didn't catch Cassian's reply to the provocation, but he did step out of the van in time to see him turn, quick as a snake, and, with a little hop for extra height, smash his forehead into the taller man's nose.

The first thing Brasso noticed was how filthy the back of Cassian's t-shirt was where he'd been pressed against the van floor last night. Then he admired the shape of Cass's arse in his thigh-hugging boxers and the expanse of wiry, muscled leg leading down to his bare ankles and loosely pulled on Docs, muddied yellow laces trailing. Then, belatedly, he caught himself and sauntered over to pull Cass back from the trucker by a fistful of that grotty t-shirt.

The other man wasn't about to come for more though - if Cass's Glasgow kiss hadn't dissuaded him the sight of Brasso would have done. He cupped his bleeding nose and looked at the pair of them incredulously. "Pervs," he snarled, stepping back.

"What did you do?" Brasso couldn't help but ask as Cassian turned back towards the van, chewing on the cuticle of a finger with no nail left to gnaw on.

"I was just having a pee behind the bin! I asked where to get breakfast round here," he huffed, grabbing after Brasso's hi-vis and looting the pockets for baccy and papers.

"There'll be somewhere at the next services," Brasso told him, sweeping up the discarded fag ends, used condom and some of the other detritus from the van and taking it to the overflowing bin in his cupped hands.

On reviewing the state of the van and of Cassian, he saw they'd missed the messy pile of packing sheets entirely, and Cass's t-shirt had rubbed a section of the floor nearly clean. The streaky patch of grot made it look like they'd dragged a corpse out of the back, and Brasso wondered whether his employers would prefer to hear that excuse rather than learn their van had been repurposed as a '70s style shagmobile.

He retrieved his lighter and his lube and chucked the hi-vis at Cassian. "For your dignity."

Cassian pulled a face but nestled himself inside the large jacket. Inside the cabin he arranged his socks and trousers across the over-worked air vents so they'd have a better hope of drying and sat in the passenger seat - all fluorescent orange and bare legs - smoking his way through Brasso's tobacco.

They agreed to skip the first few service stations they passed - there was a chain of diners further south that Brasso knew would feed them well enough to compensate for the lack of sleep. They probably wouldn't even ask Cass to put his trousers on either.

As it turned out, his trousers were dry enough to pull on by the time they stopped to eat, and Brasso watched Cass fall upon an obscenely stacked breakfast burger from over his vat of coffee, wondering where Cassian was putting the mountains of hash browns and black pudding that he guzzled down. It was for the best that they were both reasonably decent as the morning crowd included holidaying families, but Cass didn't modify his language when he flipped through a copy of the Sun someone had left on the table.

"Mum, what's 'scrote-faced misery pornographer'?" a young girl asked in the next booth after a particularly forceful outburst, so Brasso kicked Cassian's shins under the table.

"Can it! No one here cares what you think of the editorial."

Cass rolled his eyes and pointed again to the story that was vexing him - increased police powers, a change the paper wholeheartedly supported - and launched into a defence of his outburst, as if Brasso needed convincing of the argument against giving the pigs a free rein to stop and search at taser-point. He was thinking instead of how accurate his prediction for the morning had been, and how this was simultaneously reassuring and a little unnerving. It was like he'd already cut himself off from this time with Cass, and was just counting down until their next run in, however many weeks or days in the future it would be.

"Want me to drive?" Cassian asked him as they walked back to the van, the wind whipping his unkempt hair across his face and his smirk half-hidden by his moustache.

"You're not insured," Brasso rolled his eyes. He hadn't recovered from the last time he'd been in a vehicle with Cass at the wheel - the van was not made for the kind of ruthless speed Cass specialised in.

In any case, ten minutes down the road Cass was asleep in the passenger seat, head back against the seat and snoring lightly in a way that raised a fond smile to Brasso's lips. When he noticed himself smiling he rubbed his face and gave his cheek a tap or two, telling himself to snap out of it.

He drove straight to Sal's - it had probably been someone at the yard who had told Cassian he was up north on deliveries anyway.

Brasso drank too-hot instant coffee from a polystyrene cup in Sal's office and listened to the next itinerary. Sal wasn't mad, or surprised, that Brasso had turned up late with an extra passenger - Cassian was now rummaging through Sal's wares while Bix kept a close eye on him, making sure nothing pocketable got pocketed.

When he had his new list of addresses and orders, Brasso went out to hand it over to Bix for loading. "You want a lift somewhere?" he asked Cassian.

"First delivery of the day," Bix raised an eyebrow.

"I like to get the awkward ones out of the way first."

Cassian gazed coolly at the two of them, waiting for them to finish. "Apparently the Swede isn't pleased with the last job I did for him."

"He did not sound happy this morning," Bix confirmed, folding her arms and glancing at the perspex windows of Sal's office. "We could hear him bawling at Sal all the way at the far end of the yard."

"Guess I could stay at Maarva's storage unit for a bit," Cassian tore another strip of cuticle off between his teeth.

"Why don't you take him with you?" Bix looked over at Brasso, mischief in her dark eyes. Like Cassian, she could smirk without moving her lips at all.

"So when this pissed off Swedish guy goes looking for him, I get found too?"

Bix shrugged. "How will he know Cass is with you? Besides, you'll have a navigator and a hand with unloading."

Brasso eyed Cass and Cass eyed Brasso. Brasso wondered if Cassian was thinking the same thing as him - what if the time apart was necessary to the functioning of their benefit-heavy friendship?

But Bix punctured the seriousness of Brasso's considerations with a casual addition: "Maybe the whole of Sal's van will be clean by the time it's safe to come back."

Brasso looked at her in surprise, Cass looked casually at the inside of the van, and Bix shrugged.

With that secret not, apparently, a secret, maybe it was best to skip town for a while, Brasso conceded.

#brassian #brasso #cassian andor #andor fic #my fics #pwp #¯\ (ツ) /¯

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