Work Text:
Peter had been rambling for about thirty seconds before he turned around and realised Morse wasn’t even with him anymore and he had actually just been talking to himself like a madman. Sighing, he glanced towards the heavens in despair and retraced his steps down the ally, past the maze of people’s garden gates until he got to the one he had just walked through.
They were trying to solve a spree of burglaries in the area, all of them having happened on the same estate within the last month. There had been another last night and Peter and Morse had been sent to interview the homeowners, a sweet old couple who'd had half the contents of their dining room nicked. They had decided to take a look around while they were there, to see if they could find anything useful, hoping the thieves would be starting to get sloppy and arrogant, their success rate being what it was. The garden had held nothing but a rotting patio set and an overgrown lawn, so Peter had quickly dismissed it and gone out of the back gate, assuming that was the way the burglars had come and gone, and that Morse would follow close behind.
He really needed to stop assuming things with Morse, the man hadn’t done a predictable thing in his life.
He re-entered the garden and found Morse crouching down at the edge of the lawn, looking into the middle distance.
"What have you-" Peter started to ask, only to be cut off abruptly by Morse shushing him. Peter frowned and moved closer. Not sure what Morse was looking at he tried again. "What are-" He got shushed again, this time with a finger flung out at him for emphasise.
Even more confused than before, Peter moved closer, crouching down next to Morse, trying to follow the line of his gaze over the lawn.
Then he saw it.
"Oh Jesus," he sighed. There, hidden in the long grass was a ball of black and white fluff, long ears alert and eyes wide, nose twitching sporadically.
Another burglary earlier in the week had had them stood in front of a child, distraught that the burglars had left the back door open behind them and her pet rabbit had made a foolish escape. Morse had been excellent, soothing the girl and promising her they’d do everything they could, while Peter had stood there awkwardly, not ever knowing what to do with a child, let alone a crying one.
Despite Morse’s promises they both knew the rabbit was likely long gone and neither of them had mentioned it again.
But now here it was, happily munching away at the grass without a care in the world.
"I can’t believe it hasn’t been eaten by a fox," Morse whispered, not taking his eyes off the rabbit.
"I know," Peter whispered back, before smirking in Morse's direction. "Go on then, go get it."
"Why me?" Morse asked, glancing at Peter with a put upon look on his face.
"You were the one who promised to look for it," Peter replied smugly.
"Fine," Morse mumbled after a moment, and removed his jacket with a huff, shoving it into Peters hands, nearly sending him toppling over backwards.
Morse crept forwards, keeping low to the ground. He looked ridiculous and Peter had to bring the jacket up to his mouth to try and stifle his chuckles. Morse heard him and glared back over his shoulder, the sudden movement scaring the bunny and making it hop a few feet in the other direction. Morse’s glare only intensified. He turned back and continued on his way, the bunny hopping away every time he got within reaching distance. Soon it got too funny for Peter to cope and he had to start laughing in earnest.
"You could help you know?" Morse snapped, making a grab for the rabbit but missing by a couple of inches.
"Why would I when it’s so entertaining?" Peter laughed, rubbing at his side where he could feel a stitch coming.
It carried on in this way, the rabbit leading Morse in circles for another few minutes, before it started to get tired and became focused on the grass again. Morse made one last grab and managed to catch onto it. There was a scramble, like something out of a cartoon, the rabbits legs kicking manically and Morse floundering before he stood triumphantly, clutching the thing to his chest.
"I’ve got it," he said, looking at Peter, his feet staying rooted to the spot.
"Good job you’re a bit smoother with catching actual criminals." Peter smirked, wishing he had a camera to capture the sight before him, Morse looked as scared as the rabbit.
"Would you just go and find something to put this thing in?" he snapped, peering down at the animal cautiously. Peter just laughed again and headed back into the house, hoping the owners would be understanding and not begrudge the fact that all they had found in their search for evidence was a bunny rabbit. They were very kind about it and gave him a cardboard box. He quickly stabbed a few holes in the lid with his keys and then took it out to Morse.
"Here you go, David Attenborough," he said, holding out the box for Morse to drop the rabbit into. He continued clutching it though and looked at Peter in confusion.
"Who?"
"David Attenborough..." Peter said, waiting for some form of recognition in Morse’s eyes. "He presents nature documentaries on the BBC..."
Morse just shrugged at him blankly. "I don't have a telly."
"Course you don't," Peter mumbled, "Look just hurry up and put him in here." He shoved the box closer to Morse, who tried to carefully lower the rabbit into it, but it just started thumping its legs again, dragging it claws across Morse’s wrist and torso.
"Little fucker-" Morse dropped the rabbit suddenly and snatched his hand back, cradling it. Peter had never heard Morse swear before, he'd thought he was too polite for it, and he almost didn’t shut the lid in time because he was too busy staring at the man in shock.
"You alright?"
"Fine, just took me by surprise," Morse said, examining the tiny specks of blood that were creeping their way out of the scratches.
"Jesus, he’s ripped your shirt and all," Peter said, nodding to the tear he could see in Morse’s shirt, just above his left hip. Morse looked down and poked at it, revealing two more scratches below, red with blood. "Maybe that’s how he fended off the foxes," Peter mumbled, his eyebrows raised.
"Maybe." Morse sighed, still poking at the rip. "And it’s a new shirt, guess I’ll have to buy another."
"Just mend that one, it’ll only take ten minutes." Peter shrugged, turning around and making his way back towards the house, but pausing to glance back when there were no sounds of movement behind him. He’d already been caught out once today by assuming Morse would follow him. He was still stood in the same place, looking a little embarrassed. "Please tell me you know how to sew?"
Morse glanced at him and then looked away. "I never learned," he shrugged, then straightened out his shoulders as if he remembered who he was talking to.
"My my, something the almighty Morse can’t do that I can. I do feel special," Peter teased, enjoying the slight blush that had appeared on Morse’s cheeks.
"There's plenty you can do that I can't," Morse said sullenly, brushing past him and making his way back into the house, an air of hurt now prickling around him. Peter felt a little guilty, until he followed him inside and found him apologising to the owners, charming smile plastered on his face. He’d never smiled at Peter like that, he seemed to save all his patience and kindness for pretty girls and old biddies. He told himself that it only stung a little because it was rude.
The little girl was overjoyed when they took the rabbit back, going so far as to hug Morse’s legs with gratitude.
At least someone was happy.
-
Morse just slumped himself down and got on with paperwork when they got back to the nick, theft not being interesting enough to hold his attention for very long. Peter wrote up the report and did his best to ignore the rest of the human race for as long as he could get away with.
Unfortunately Bright stopped by in the early afternoon and took about two seconds to notice the rip in Morse’s shirt, appalled by the state of it.
"Get it sorted," He’d snapped, and Morse had nodded bashfully, looking to Peter a little pathetically for help. He’d rolled his eyes in reply but nodded, telling Morse to stay put while he went searching.
He reappeared ten minutes later and walked to where Morse was sitting at his desk, newspaper laid out at the puzzle page. "Here you are," he said, dropping a small sewing kit onto the corner of the desk.
"Oh, I thought you'd just lend me a shirt. Where’d you get that?" Morse asked, confusion furrowing his brow.
"That little WPC behind the front desk. She sometimes brings her knitting to work with her so I figured she'd have something. I told you, you don't need a new shirt, that one just needs mending."
"Right, thanks." Morse just stared at the sewing kit, as if it was as scary as the rabbit had been. Peter snorted at Morse’s ineptitude and picked up the kit, removing one of the needles and pulling out a length of white thread.
"C'mere," he said, pulling Morse’s desk chair round and kneeling in front of him, popping the thread in his mouth quickly before threading the needle and tying a knot.
Without thinking, Peter pulled Morse’s shirt tail from his trousers and began stitching the rip up, deft fingers moving quickly. He was so focused on making sure the first few stitches lined up properly it took him a while to realise how tense Morse was, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, jaw clenched.
"What?" Peter asked once he had glanced at Morse’s face and noticed the tension, pausing in his ministrations.
Morses eyes widened briefly, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. "Nothing. Just hurts a bit."
Peter couldn’t see why, he was being careful not to touch the scratches, and Morse wasn’t one for showing signs of pain anyway. It was the fact that it was so out of character that caused Peter to say what he did next.
"Want me to kiss it better?"
He had meant it as a joke, something outrageous enough to earn him an eyeroll, but Morse’s hands had clenched tighter and his leg had twitched, and suddenly Peter saw the situation from a very different point of view. Him knelt in front of Morse, offering to kiss something, his hands and face close to- well. He cleared his throat and got back to work, not being nearly as careful to keep the stitches neat now, wondering if the people in the office around them had noticed the shift in atmosphere.
It got trickier as he got to the end of the rip, and there wasn’t a way to tie off his thread without his knuckles brushing against the taut skin of Morse’s belly, muscles twitching under his touch. He ripped the end of the thread off, wanting to be done as soon as possible, and stood. "There you go."
"Thanks." Morse sprang to his feet, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "I’m just going to look at the report of the first burglary," he muttered, keeping his eyes low and legging it out of the room.
Peter glanced around himself as he put the needle and the thread back in the sewing kit, terrified of the accusing eyes he was sure would be waiting to meet his. But everyone was just going about their business, oblivious to the moment that had just happened between him and Morse.
By the time Morse got back, Strange had been nattering on about some bird he’d met at The Lamb and Flag for so long that Peter had managed to put the little incident from his mind. Well, mostly. Morse seemed almost back to normal too, if a little pricklier around the edges.
It wasn’t until later that night, when Peter was on the verge of sleep, that it all came back to him, washing over his body in waves of shame and arousal. He couldn’t help himself thinking about it. It had only been the smallest moment of contact , but it had ignited something deep within him, making him wonder what it would feel like to touch Morse’s skin properly, to explore the hot, smooth flesh further, with purpose.
He cut himself short every time, verging on the edge of truly inappropriate, stopping himself at the point where he wouldn’t be able to look Morse in the eye ever again.
He had felt like this about men before, he’d even done something about it once or twice, back when he was too depressed and reckless to care about the consequences, willing to throw his life away for half an hour of pleasure that made all the pain fade away.
It wasn’t worth it now. His life was...good. Solid. He had a steady job, decent friends, he could even plan a little way into the future without getting too panicked about it. He thought he had come to terms with the idea of eventually settling down with a girl. He liked girls, to a certain extent, and he hoped maybe one day there would be one he could like enough to love.
So no, Morse wasn’t worth it, mesmerising as he was.
Peter spent the next few weeks trying to convince himself of this fact, resolutely ignoring the thoughts that came to him in the dark just as often as in the daylight, Morse's presence doing it's best to cloud his judgment like a bad hangover.
-
They solved it in the end, the culprits finally getting careless and leaving a cinema stub behind. Morse had worked his magic and figured the whole thing out from that alone. He had then immediately been nabbed by Thursday to help with an identity theft case, some Oxford don who had wanted him for a prodigy back in the day. So Peter was wrapping up the burglaries by himself, making sure what could be was returned to the rightful owners and doing door to door to ensure everyone was satisfied.
He left the house with the rabbit till last, it happening to be located at the right end of the estate for him to make his way home straight afterwards, this job having taken him to the end of his shift.
He was just finishing the same spiel he had had to repeat countless times in the last few hours when a little head poked around the doorway to the hall, making eye contact with him and then quickly retreating, quiet giggles following. The mother glanced behind herself at the noise.
"Come and say thank you again to the policeman Mary," she said. The child reappeared and shuffled into the room, hiding herself behind her mother’s legs. With some encouragement she leaned round and muttered her ‘thank yous’ shyly, before looking up to her mother and saying something even more quietly. Her mother leaned down and got her to repeat it in her ear. "Oh yes I’d forgotten about that," she said to the girl before looking back at Peter. "Your colleague isn’t with you today? Only she’s made him a little card, to say thank you for finding Flopsy."
"No, he’s on another case I’m afraid. I can give it to him for you though?" Peter offered, trying not to feel too bitter. He’d never gotten a card. Bloody Morse and his ability to make everyone fawn all over him, even children.
Even himself, his brain added unhelpfully.
"Oh that would be fantastic. Saves me a trip into town to drop it at the station. Go and fetch it sweetheart," she said, ushering the child from the room. "We really are so grateful. Mary was beside herself." The girl reappeared, the card clutched in her little hand. She held it out to Peter, running quickly back to her mother once he’d taken it.
"You’re very welcome. We're glad to help." Peter glanced down at the card. She’d drawn the rabbit surrounded by little yellow flowers, the words ‘thank you’ scrawled in that weird round handwriting that all small children do when they’re learning to write. It was crude, but even he had to admit, a little cute.
The mother showed him from the house, one last timid wave from the girl sending him on his way, and he headed for home, deciding to stop at Morse’s and drop the card off as it was on his way. He doubted Morse would be in but he could pop it through the letter box with a note.
He arrived in Wellington square to find it bathed in evening sun, the type of light that made even the dirtiest windows glow golden. He descended the steps and knocked on Morse’s door, surprised when it opened revealing the other man in his shirtsleeves, tie loosened and cheeks ruddy after a day of sunshine.
"Wocher. Didn’t think you’d be in yet,” Peter said, a little caught off guard by seeing Morse in such a relaxed state.
"Just got back. Is everything alright?"
"Fine. Just been tying up loose ends at the estate and that kiddie made this for you, thought I’d drop it by." He handed the card over, watching a small smile tug at Morse’s lips as he flipped it open and read the contents.
Morse looked back up at Peter, the smile lingering. "Thanks," he said, gaze warm. There was a pause, but Peter was too caught up in looking at Morse’s eyes to do anything about it. "Do you want to come in for a drink?" Morse asked eventually, breaking their eye contact and gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder.
"Yeah, alright," Peter said, feeling a little guilty for wanting to linger in the residual happiness that someone else had caused, but thinking it would be a shame if it was left to be witnessed by no one. He followed him in through the door, shutting it behind him and watching as Morse looked at the card again and hesitated, glancing around for a place to put it. He settled on the mantle, looking a little bashful as he placed it there, and quickly turned and busied himself with the drinks.
“Sorry I had to hurry off, I didn’t like to leave you with all the paperwork but Thursday insisted, I know how much you hate it,” Morse said, screwing the lid back on the whiskey and glancing at Peter over his shoulder.
“Not as much as you.” Peter smirked, accepting the drink as it was held out to him, their fingers coming close to touching but missing by a hair.
Morse smiled ruefully. “That’s true. Still not fair you had to do it on your own.”
“Don’t worry, it’s easier without you under foot anyway,” Peter teased, but regretted it when something like hurt flashed across Morse’s face. He hopped he was imagining things. "How’s the identity theft going anyway?" he asked, wanting to get Morse back to the way he had looked when he’d first arrived, glowing and soft in the evening sun.
"Oh, I solved it,” he shrugged, speaking more to his whisky than to Peter. “One of his students was trying to make a bit of money by using his name, it all just spiralled out of control."
"Jesus," Peter mumbled, looking down at his drink and shaking his head, unable to stop the soppy smile that was trying to take over his face. Of course Morse would solve identity theft in one bloody afternoon, the man was insane.
"What?" Morse asked, confused, clearly mistaking Peters reaction for something cruel.
Peter looked back up and met his eyes, still shaking his head slightly but allowing the fondness to show as much as possible. He was tired of dancing around it, of putting up a front every time they were in the same room. "You Morse, you're..." He didn't know how to finish that sentence, because really there wasn’t a word in the English language that even came close to doing him justice.
"I'm what?" he asked, trepidation in his voice, defences high.
Peter started at him, hoping something would come to mind, but he realised, looking at Morse as he was, weary with a day’s worth of work but eyes still shining in the golden light, that the words would never come. "The only way I can say it is by doing something stupid." It came out hoarse, the air around them prickling with a heavy, thick heat.
Understanding flashed through Morse’s eyes briefly before doubt crept in and took its place. Morse hesitated, studying Peter like he would the evidence board, eyes darting from left to right, trying to make a web of connections out of the sparse information available to him. "Go on then," he said eventually, squaring his shoulders.
Peter swallowed. He hadn’t felt this scared in a long time, but he trusted Morse. He’d never joined in with the scathing talk at work, the stuff that went beyond police procedure and into pure hatred and disgust, driving some of them to go out in search of someone to nick for gross indecency just for the sake of it.
It would be a gamble, possibly the biggest of his life, but Peter felt like the odds might just be in his favour.
He put his glass down and stepped forwards slowly, giving Morse plenty of time to move away, keeping his eyes glued to the other mans for any sign of rejection. He brought a hand up, placing it so his thumb rested gently on Morse’s cheek and leaned forwards as far as he dared, stopping an inch from his mouth. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, eyes finally fluttering down to look at Morse's lips.
Morse shook his head slowly, the movement barely visible, and parted his lips, bringing his nose to brush against Peter’s. “I don’t want you to stop.”
It was easy to fall forwards into each other after that. Their lips brushed together softly, both pulling back briefly before moving in again, firmer and more certain. Morse’s hands came up to grasp at the back of Peter’s jacket, his fingers clutching tightly and pulling the other man closer. Peter slid his hands into Morse’s hair, his fingers gripping gently at the curls at the base of his skull.
It was a rush then, trying to navigate their way around each other’s limbs so they could get as close to each other as possible, their hands wanting to be everywhere all at once.
There was so much adrenaline coursing through Peter's veins that his breath escaped him, he reluctantly broke away from Morse’s mouth, breathing deeply into the hot, sultry air hanging between them before running his lips down Morse’s jaw and throat. Morse’s hands slipped down his back, tucking them under his jacket and trailing them back up again, the outline of his palms searing their way onto his skin through his shirt and vest.
Peters lips continued down until they met Morse’s collar and he stopped short, Morse’s hand pausing in their route at the same time.
Peter realised this was it, the moment of no return, now was the time to pull away and pretend it had never happened, to ignore the fact that he was willing to put his life on the line for something so fragile, to swallow his feelings down as deep as they would go and make this a memory he would pray to forget.
But Morse was not something that could be forgotten, he had blazed his way into Peter’s life, bright and dazzling, and made a mark so deep it would never go away.
Peter brought his head back up and rested their foreheads together, searching for an answer in Morse’s eyes. He brought his hand to rest over Morse’s tie, his fingertips hooking round the top of the knot, hesitating.
Morse nodded, small but sure, and Peter moved, ripping Morse’s tie from his neck.
They stumbled back towards the bed, and the unsettled feeling that had been whirring around Peter’s head since childhood faded into the abyss, his senses drowning in the feeling of Morse.
-
Morse was sure he had been kissed there before, just above his left hip where the skin sat tightly over the bone. It wasn’t exactly a hard place to reach, but if he ever had been kissed there before he hadn’t ever paid it any mind. But this time it was significant, a spot where two little scratches had scarred and marked the moment in time when everything had changed. He felt himself twitch in response to the feel of Peter’s lips there, a moan was pulled from deep within him at the knowing smirk Peter sent his way as he nudged at the scar with his nose.
He'd have to get Peter to mend his clothes more often if this was where they ended up.