Title: Projection

Author: Steph

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: No profit being made, it all belongs to Russell T. Davies, Channel Four, etc.

Summary: How every hardworking man or woman should end the day.


Projection

Vince stepped off the lift and hobbled carefully to the door of the flat he shared with Stuart. The door opened after he pulled on it a bit, and in his exhausted mind, he reminded himself to get someone in to fix that.

Stuart sat on the couch watching telly, but he turned around to look at Vince when he entered the flat. He noticed Vince’s limping straight away, pushed himself off of the couch and walked over to him.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asked.

Vince winced as he toed off one torture device—or shoe, as the shop named them, though Vince had serious doubts towards the validity of that assessment—and then the other. He sighed and gingerly wiggled his toes.

“Pulled a double shift, yeah?” Vince explained unnecessarily, since Stuart was already well aware of that fact. “Fucking coupons went out today, the whole place was mental from open to close. The first time I sat down in thirteen hours was when I got into the Jeep. Usually it’s not that bad. I mean I’ve done double shifts loads of times. But I bought these new shoes a few days ago, only fifteen quid. Now I know why. They’re bloody deathtraps. My feet ache. I can’t walk.”

He shuffled towards the couch and slowly bent down until he sat on one cushion. Then, he swung his legs out on the other end of the couch and then shifted on his side to face the television. He realized Stuart probably saw the entire display as over-exaggeration and a show put on to make Vince’s point, but really he just needed to lie down.

“You bought shoes for ten quid and thought they’d be good to wear for a twelve hour shift?” Stuart asked, looming over Vince’s prone body.

Vince didn’t really feel like arguing, so instead he simply closed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Fifteen quid, actually,” he corrected before conceding, “You were right, I should have bought a good pair and not worried about the price.”

“Of course I was right, and of course you didn’t listen to me,” Stuart said. “Do you know how many crises in your life could have been easily averted over the years if you’d only listened to what I said in the first place?”

“Not all of us have eighty quid to spend on shoes,” Vince argued.

“Not all of us are twats,” Stuart spat back. “You don’t have to worry about the money.”

Vince rubbed a hand over his forehead, frustrated about approaching a touchy topic between them that he had no intention of dealing with at that moment.

“You know I won’t let you pay my way, Stuart,” he answered. He switched subjects before Stuart could respond. “What are you watching?” he asked, squinting at the telly.

Stuart glanced over at what appeared to be a nature program and shrugged. “Dunno, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Can I?” Vince asked, gesturing at the remote in his hands.

”Yeah.”

He immediately flipped through the movie channels until he found one playing X-Men. “Excellent,” he muttered. He focused all his attention on the telly and ignored Stuart still standing in front of him, his passive-aggressive way of showing he didn’t want to continue their argument.

Usually, Stuart would insist on having his say, demanding Vince finish the conversation. Thankfully, this time he dropped it, at least for the moment. Instead, he went over to the end of the couch, lifted Vince’s legs, sat down and placed them over his lap.

Vince watched Stuart out of the corner of his eye as he idly ran his hand over Vince’s tired calf muscle. He loosely took hold of one of Vince’s sock clad feet, and seemed to contemplate something without looking up. Finally, after several moments, he placed both of his thumbs in the center of Vince’s left foot at the arch and rubbed deeply upwards.

Vince groaned loudly at the intense feeling of pleasure and pain that shot through his foot. “Oh, god.”

Stuart continued his ministrations, moving outward along the arch and under Vince’s toes. Still without even a glance at Vince’s face, he pulled off both white socks. He spent long, agonizingly good minutes on Vince’s over-sensitive heels when Vince hissed and moaned at his touch there. He massaged them in a circular motion, then went to the painful sides of his feet where the shoes had dug into his skin. The balls of his feet were carefully worked over as well, and Vince thought, in his now slightly hazy mind, that Stuart knew how to do that incredibly well for someone who had most assuredly never gave a massage before in his life. He came to the conclusion that Stuart must have received more than his fair share of foot rubs in his life, which Vince could easily believe.

Vince didn’t say anything aside from the appreciative murmurs that spilled out of his mouth when Stuart relaxed a particularly painful muscle. Stuart refused to look up and acknowledge his out of character display of kindness, and Vince knew better than to try and thank him. He’d only get angry and defensive. So instead he pretended to watch the television as Wolverine attempted to save Rogue from Magneto’s evil clutches.

Eventually, though, as the pain in his feet and legs lessened, the weight of the long day he had seemed to press down upon him, making his body feel pleasantly leaden and his eyelids droop. The telly became fuzzy through his half-shut eyes, and his whole body changed from feeling heavy to impossibly light. He burrowed deeper into the couch and Stuart momentarily stopped what he was doing to let Vince move.

When he finished shifting and felt comfortable and drowsy and perfectly content, Stuart continued. The last thing Vince felt before he drifted off was Stuart’s warm hand running lightly up the leg of his chinos.

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