Five Times Timmy Surprised Donald

by The Grrrl

Title: Five Times Timmy Surprised Donald

Author: The Grrrl

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Archive: Ask first.

Fandom: The Strachey Mysteries

Pairing: Donald/Timmy

Summary: Written for the nick_n_nora Five Things Challenge.


The sexy guy with the glasses shook his head. "I'm sorry, Detective--?"

"Strachey. Donald Strachey."

"I'm sorry, Detective Donald Strachey, I didn't get a very good look at him. I was on the other side of the park when it happened."

"Can you tell me anything at all about him?" Donald asked, flipping open his pad. "Was he white? Black? How tall?"

Sexy Guy pursed his lips and looked thoughtful, which Donald enjoyed very much. It was a good look for Sexy Guy.

"Okay. He was white, and, I don't know, average height, average build," Sexy Guy said, before shrugging, charmingly distressed. "Dark hair? Oh, now that's not very helpful at all, is it?"

"Every little bit helps." Donald looked Sexy Guy over. Well dressed, every hair in place, tie knotted to perfection, pricey leather briefcase. Businessman, probably.

Still, a very good-looking businessman.

"Listen, I might need to ask you more questions--is there a number I can reach you at?" Donald asked. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Sexy Guy didn't blink. "Yes, of course." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card.

The card was on heavy, creamy stock, the printing glossy. "Timothy Callahan, Esquire." Donald read out loud. His heart sank.

Great. A lawyer.

The card was going straight into the garbage.

Timothy Callahan nodded, then patted Donald's arm. "I did notice that he was wearing a gray suit with definite warm overtones. European cut. And, while the sun was in my eyes, I'm pretty just might have been," he leaned close and whispered, as if sharing a secret. "Double-breasted. Very retro."


Timothy straightened. "Uh huh. Canali. It had to be a Canali."

Donald hung his head. "Great," he said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "I'm sure that's going to be really helpful."

Timothy's chin rose. "I'll have you know there is only one clothier in town that carries Canali."

And that's how Donald caught the Greenville Park thief.


"Wait, wait--" Donald said against Timmy's mouth. He pushed Timmy's hands out of his way. "I can't, not with you, you're in the way--" Timmy's tie was almost untied but then Timmy kissed him again and his coordination went all to hell.

"Here, let me," Timmy insisted, shoving at Donald's hands.

"God I hate suits." Donald leaned his head on Timmy's shoulder and allowed Timmy to finish unbuttoning his shirt with his quick, precise hands.

"There, that's better," Timmy said, pushing Donald shirt down off his shoulders. He ran his hands over Donald's chest. "Oh my, much much better."

"Yeah?" Donald grinned as Timmy kissed his neck.

"Yes. Very--" Timmy kissed Donald's left shoulder, and paused. "Well, look at that."

Donald glanced over to see Timmy running a finger along the tattoo circling his upper arm.

"You have a tattoo," Timmy said, an odd expression on his face.


When Timmy didn't say anything more, Donald added, "Actually, I have two of them." Turning around, Donald freed his arms from his shirt and dropped it on the floor.

Timmy remained silent.

Donald sighed. The date was a total mistake, right from the get-go. He should have known that Timothy Callahan, Esquire was not going to be into--

Timmy pressed his lips to the nape of Donald's neck. "How very...butch." His hands slid down Donald's arms as he dropped to his knees and pressed another kiss to the small of Donald's back. "Quite intriguing."

"You, uh, like it?"

Timmy reached around to unfasten Donald's pants and pulled them down, all the while tracing the edges of the tattoo with his lips and tongue.

"I take that as a yes?" Donald gasped, aching with need. Firm hands cradling his ass, spreading his cheeks and Donald moaned as Timmy's mouth moved lower and lower.

"Yes," Timmy said softly.


Timmy stands in the doorway. "So, Donald. This is your office?" He sounds as if he hopes he's wrong.

"Hi, Timothy. Come in, come in," Donald shoves a stack of books aside with his foot to make room. "I know, it's kind of disorganized. I don't spend a lot of time here."

"Ah." After gingerly stepping over scattered files, Timmy wrinkles his nose and surveys the room. "I see."

"I used to have this secretary, but it was a while back." Donald shrugs and gives what he hopes is a winning smile.

"Of course." Timmy looks decidedly un-won over.

Donald's shoulders slump. "Okay, I know, it's a mess." He grabs his coat, and reaches up to kiss Timmy's firmly set lips. "Let's go, I'm ready for lunch."

Timmy cups the back of Donald's neck, and pulls him back in for anther kiss, lips softer as they move over Donald's mouth.

"Hmmm. We could go to lunch," Timmy says, lips brushing against Donald's ear. "Or we could lock the door and fool around instead."

Donald brightens. "I think there's couch in there somewhere."


Donald sips his martini, eyes falling shut in pure bliss. It's been a hell of a week but now it's over, another successful case closed. He's even happier when he opens his eyes and sees Timmy sliding onto the bar stool next to him.

"Hi, honey," Timmy says. "Sorry I'm late."

"You are very late. At least five minutes late." Donald leans in for a kiss. It's slow and sweet and when Timmy draws back Donald says, "Okay, you're forgiven."

Grinning, Timmy leans over the bar. "Barkeep? Yes, I'd like a Bud."

Immediately alert, Donald sits up and asks, "Who are you, and what have you done with my Timothy?"

"Very funny." Timmy doesn't meet his eyes. "Sometimes I'm just in the mood for a beer, is that really so strange?"

Donald is relieved to see that Timmy is at least pouring it into the glass. If he had swigged from the bottle Donald would have been seriously spooked. "Yes, it is strange. Especially considering I have never seen you touch the stuff."

"Well, maybe there's a lot you don't know about me." Timmy raises his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip of the golden liquid.

Then puts the glass down quickly, face scrunched up in disgust. "Oh god, that's awful."

Donald laughs out loud and hands Timmy his martini.

"Thank you." Timmy swallows a large mouthful, then sighs with relief. "Much better." He pushes the beer away and curls his fingers defensively around the stem of the glass.

Donald orders himself another. "So what's with you today?" he asks, eyeing Timmy curiously.

"I just thought--" Timmy takes another fortifying sip of his--Donald's--martini. "I was trying be a little more, just in case you wanted, but--"

"But?" Donald is utterly confused.

"I think I'm just going to have to leave the tough guy stuff to you, all right?"

Timmy looks downright worried and it takes Donald a moment to catch on. Then he gets it. "Oh, oh, honey," he says, startled and more than a little overwhelmed . With a hand to Timmy's chin, he turns Timmy to face him. "Listen to me--you're perfect, just the way you are."

Timmy's answering smile warms Donald's heart.


Timmy nudges Donald's foot. "See Mr. Red Flannel shirt across the street? The one with the baseball cap?"

"Yeah?" Donald cranes his neck trying to see.

"He was totally checking out that boy's ass." Timmy sips his cappuccino with authority.

Donald snorts into his latte, and looks again. "No, he was not. Was he?"

"Uh huh." With a sly grin Timmy sinks his fork into Donald's cheesecake. "You know the type. Kisses his wife goodbye, tells her he's going on a hunting trip, and then heads straight for the Rainbow Lounge."

"Stop it." Donald slaps Timmy's thigh, giggling. "You're so bad." He helps himself to Timmy's raspberry pastry.

"Hmmph." Timmy sniffs. "Trust me."

Mr. Red Flannel crosses the street and glances at the coffee shop patrons, eyes lingering on Donald as he strolls past.

Donald turns to Timmy, eyebrows raised.

"Total bottom," Timmy mouths.

And Donald starts laughing all over again. Timmy flashes him a grin and goes back to his pastry. Shaking his head, Donald finally calms down enough to lean back and take another sip of his coffee.

His hand remains on Timmy's thigh and he rubs his thumb along the surprisingly hard muscle. Almost imperceptively, Timmy leans into his touch. Sitting outside under a clear blue sky in the late spring, the dogwoods are blooming and Donald can't remember the last time he was this relaxed, happy to be between clients and looking forward to a lazy weekend with Timmy, doing nothing and everything together.

The words tumble from Donald's mouth, unbidden. "I love you."

"Oh." Timmy drops his fork and places his hand over Donald's. "Oh. I love you too, darling." He stares at Donald in what appears to be genuine delight before pulling him in for a kiss.

The sky doesn't go black, the birds don't stop singing, the flowers don't wither and fall from the trees.

The world doesn't end.

"Very, very much," Timmy adds and kisses Donald again.

The Strachey Mystery Series is the property of the author, Richard Stevenson. No copyright infringement is intended or should be inferred. This is a nonprofit fan site.

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