Secret Santa Short Story (and other alliterations)

[strangetomato]

This short story was written as a Secret Santa gift for showercapfrog, and it is unrepentantly Tank/Frances. It takes place in my version of Strangetown, but it would not be considered "canon-compliant" with Strangetown, HWC (I feel like I'm taking myself a tad too seriously even saying that, but you get my meaning). It doesn't have images because I didn't get back to my computer before the deadline, as I thought I would, but it does have Tank and Frances and fluff. I'm posting it here for any other diehard Tank/Frances shippers out there. You know who you are.






Tank heard the door close downstairs, so he went to greet Frances. As usual, Frances was all smiles to see him, in his typically restrained way, and he was carrying a rather large bottle.

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing. Just some champagne. It's a gift from Edie. She insists on bubbly for New Year's Eve, even if it's just a quiet night at home."

"Do you have any plans?"

"No. I guess I'm doing nothing by default."

"Same here."

"What about Kendall?"

"She's home with her family."

"You didn't go?"

"No. It's complicated. We needed a bit of a break or something."

Frances didn't pry, but he was secretly glad to hear that. Even if he had no chance, his heart still leapt at the thought that Tank might be available. It made little sense, but that's just how it was, and likely always would be.

"Well, we could drink some of the champagne... shoot off some fireworks."

"Do you have fireworks?"

"That was a joke, Tank. I hate fireworks."

"What? How can you hate them? I thought everyone liked fireworks."

"They're so gaudy and tacky. I just don't see the point. It's a bunch of overgrown little boys blowing things up."

"But it's fun to blow things up. You should try it."

"Oh, please. I get a fright when the toast pops up."

"Yeah, you do." Tank smirked. "It's pretty funny too."

"I'm glad I amuse you." He walked towards the kitchen, lifting the bottle over his head, with a flourish and a swing of the hip. "So... yes, no? Are we going to drink some of this, and shoot off no fireworks? It's a lot to drink all by myself. I'm a cheap drunk."

"Well, just look at you." Tank laughed.

"Whatever do you mean? I'm a big guy, aren't I? I'm built like a lumberjack, I'm told." Frances was built more like a librarian. He started to work the cork out, with great effort. "Shall we go all out and use flutes?"

"Yeah, sure." Tank watched as Frances struggled with the cork. "Need a hand there?"

"No, I can do it." Frances continued to sweat it out, unconvincingly.

"Here. Let me see it."

"I have it, I have it."

"No, really -" As Tank reached for the bottle, Frances jerked it out of reach and fell backwards. The cork came loose and shot across the room, barely missing Tank's face. "Shit!" Tank dropped to the floor, as if he was in the middle of a battlefield, and Frances toppled over in fright.

"Fuck, said Tank, "I could have lost an eye."

"Sorry." Frances couldn't help but laugh. Tank was laughing too. As he pulled himself upright again, cradling the bottle, Frances said, "Let the record show that I did open it myself, though."

Soon they were sitting on the coach, with flutes in hand.

Frances picked up the remote. "Let's turn on SBC, just so we can see when the new year is here."

"What's wrong with SBN?"

"SBC is better."

"Yeah... if you're a snob."

"Well, I am a snob, in case you haven't noticed..."

"Okay, then put on your snooty foreign channel. I don't care."

"Great." Frances worked his way through the channels until he found SBC. They both took pause when they found a figure skating championship was on.

"Ummm..." Tank didn't get anything else out before Frances started flicking through the channels again.

"Yeah, sorry... I thought they would be doing something for New Year's."

"Maybe it's too early." Tank shrugged. "Well, just leave it on, if you want. I don't care."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm not exactly a fan, but there's nothing wrong with it."

"Well, I don't follow it either," Frances assured him, "It's all a little over the top, if you ask me." They watched as a particularly flamboyant young man emoted and interpeted a piece of classical music. "I'm not really interested in ballet and all that either. I just don't think the music needs anything else added to it."

"Nice jump, though." Tank gestured at the screen. "It's takes a lot of strength to do that, even if it's all a little... well, you know."

"You can say it. It's no better to trail off like that, you know."

"I'm not sure what I should say."

"How about twee? That's pretty inoffensive. You could say gay, but that's making assumptions. He might be straight."

"Do you think so?" Tank raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

"No. I think he's terribly, terribly gay."

"Terribly?"

"As in, 'terribly, terribly Veronish?'" he waited for a sign of recognition, but none came. "It's a Veronaville thing. I don't know. My sister likes to feign an accent and declare things are terribly, terribly, outrageously, disgustingly Veronish."

"It's new to me." Tank shrugged.

"Well, there you go." Frances did his best Veronaville accent, and Tank could see that he was pretty good at it. "You're terribly, terribly un-Veronish. You're maddeningly so."

"I'm just a lout, aren't I?" Tank asked, really looking for a frank answer. "I'm not witty like you are."

"I'm not that witty. And you're not that bad." Frances stared into the bottom of his empty champagne flute. His fake accent returned. "Well that appears to have evaporated. Would you like another?"

"Sure."

Frances returned with the bottle, to find Tank fairly caught up in the figure skating program. "Here's your glass, sir," Fraces said.

"So, what about him?"

"What? Is he gay, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"God, I don't know, Tank. He might be."

"Can you always tell?"

"Not at all. Well, you should know that."

"Yeah, I guess so." He was thinking something over.

"What?"

"Nothing." Tank was still pondering something, so Frances waited. "So, When did you first know? About that."

"That I liked boys?" Frances was surprised that Tank was continuing this train of thought. Maybe the champagne was going to Tank's head. It was definitely going to his.

"Yeah."

"I don't know, honestly. Maybe I always did, but I wasn't always aware of it. Not completely." Frances began to play with the button on the cuff of his shirt. "I even dated a couple of girls, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I guess I was testing it out, seeing if I could make it work."

Tank huffed out something that resembled a laugh. "Well, I hear it works both ways for some people."

"It doesn't for me." Frances shrugged. "Not at all. It was nice enough, in it's own way, but I was never really attracted to them. There were no fireworks. You know?"

"Yeah?" Tank seemed to be waiting for more, which would have unnerved Frances if he wasn't so light in the head.

"I kissed a couple of them. It was alright, but it wasn't the same."

"A couple of them? You've kissed as many girls as I have, Worthington! That's just wrong."

Frances shrugged. "I think every girl dreams of having a straight gay guy. It's that whole sensitive thing. It's a fine line."

Tank was refilling his glass. "So when did you actually..." he searched for the words.

"Kiss a boy?"

"Yeah."

"At summer camp. It was in a stall in the male showers. It was all very classy." He smirked and nodded.

"The shower... stall?" Frances laughed, when he say where Tank's mind was going.

"Oh no, we had clothes on. It was just somewhere to sneak away to. So nobody was around."

"Oh."

"So that's the story. Just a summer romance. Pretty typical."

"And it was different?"

"Completely different. If I had any doubts, that confirmed it."

"It didn't..." Tank paused.

"What?"

"I don't know... it didn't feel that different to me."

"You mean -"

"Yeah, that night. That was the weird thing about it. It was a shock, and everything, but I don't know... your mouth didn't feel different or anything."

"Oh. Well, yeah... I guess a mouth is a mouth. The difference is in how you'd feel during it. That's what matters."

"Yeah."

Frances furrowed his brow. Tank seemed really weird about it, but he didn't want to get into talking about that again. He assumed that Tank had felt uncomfortable and upset about it, so he was surprised that he'd even said this much. "I'm sorry about that, Tank. I know I've said it before..."

"It's okay." Tank was refilling both of their drinks. "You know, I did something like that once myself... with Ophelia. Remember? You met her at a party once."

"Right... I remember you mentioned something about that. So, it was with her?"

"Yeah, and she thought of me as just a friend, so she wasn't interested. I know how you must have felt."

There it was. Just a friend. Frances knew that, but still he held on to some hope. Why was that? "It's embarrassing." He nodded.

"Yeah." Tank paused. "It's funny."

"What is?"

"Talking about kissing on New Year's Eve."

"Oh, right. Because you're supposed to kiss someone. I guess we're out of luck."

Tank didn't say anything. He was downing his champagne again. "Well, this stuff really goes to your head, doesn't it?"

"Indeed."

"You're handling yourself fairly well, considering I'm feeling pretty tipsy over here."

"I haven't stood up yet. It's just a front."

"So you're feeling it?"

"God yes."

"I don't really drink that much. I guess I should hold my liquor better than this, being a big brute and all, but there you go."

"Are you... tanked?" Frances giggled away at his own joke.

"Why, yes, good sir, I do believe I am."  Tank was serving forth his best impression of Frances.

"Nice one. It's like looking in a mirror."

"Now we just need to get you cursing and belching and stomping around, knocking shit over."

"Well, in that case..." Frances emptied the last of the champagne into their glasses. "Better keep drinking."

That's exactly what they did, and they were so caught up in conversation that the clock was striking twelve before they knew it.

"Well," Frances shrugged, "Happy New Year, Tank."

"Happy New Year, Frances."

Frances watched, seemingly in slow motion, as Tank leaned forward and pressed his lips to Frances's own. He allowed himself to melt into Tank's searching embrace, and didn't question it. They'd done enough talking. Now was the time to just feel, and to recklessly let the moment run its course. They could sift through the details in the morning, for better or worse.

Frances let Tank lead the way, and when he found their clothes disappearing, and his skin against more and more of Tank's body, he began to rethink his opinion of fireworks. In that moment, he was all about the fireworks.

It was looking to be an interesting start to the new year.




 

Comments

[strange-tomato.livejournal.com]

Thank you. :)

I'm making a bit of a link between the "Northern" side of the river in Veronaville and England (it's those timber frame houses), and the "Southern" side of Veronaville is sort of like a Mediterranean equivalent for me (the hood as a whole being a sort of "Sim Europe," like I see Riverblossom Hills as a "Sim Canada" hood, and most of the rest are in the "Sim U.S.A." - it's just a loose comparison to our world).

So, based on that, I see their accent as being sort of Simlish version of a British accent, compared to a more North American Simlish accent for the other hoods. It's not the same, but I'm thinking of it as a model.