Title: The Right Moment
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 5830
References/Spoilers: Can't think of any. This story takes place before the time line of the movies.
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.
Summary: Don takes Steve to task. Later, Tim and Don discover that sometimes the right moment just happens. Sequel to the story "Trust"

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THE RIGHT MOMENT

by

Candy Apple

I sat and stared at the telephone for a while, letting it sink in. A thousand bucks, down the drain. I sighed and pulled out the business checkbook and wrote out a check to the client who had just bitterly demanded a refund of her retainer. I knew there was a higher-tech way to keep the books and issue checks, but the aging woman who agreed to work for the pittance I could pay a secretary knew less about computer accounting software than I did - and less than nothing is, you guessed it, nothing.

So I hand wrote the check and then entered it in the sorry looking check register. Unless I got a new client within the next week, I'd be depleting my meager savings to pay the bills. And if I didn't get a new client within a couple weeks, I'd be closing my doors for good and job hunting again. Sometimes I wondered if I was nuts, trying to make a go of my own business. I'd gotten a couple of decent job offers before making the decision to go this route. I could probably find something that paid better than this. There were days I felt like the kids working the drive-thru windows had more disposable cash than I did.

The worst part of it was, I had to cancel the reservations I'd made at that pricey little bed and breakfast for Tim and me that weekend. I wanted to romance him, make him feel special, let him know that even though neither one of us were blushing virgins, some of us a whole lot less virginal than others, making love to him was a milestone, that he was worth some fuss and ceremony.

And now I had to keep what was left of my credit card credit line handy in case I needed it to stay afloat.

All that having been said, I couldn't regret staying with him after what his prick ex-boyfriend did to him, even if it did cost me the farm, so to speak. I could have left him there. He wasn't in danger from what turned out to be pretty superficial injuries. With the extra latch on the door, he was probably safe from Steve, too. He'd done his thing, proved his point, gotten the upper hand and "punished" Tim for embarrassing him and refusing his overture to get back together.  

Still, I couldn't leave him. I knew he wanted me to stay, and the way he held onto me and cried in my arms, as brief as it was, made it pretty obvious how shaken up he really was. That just made me more determined to make Thor pay for what he'd done. And maybe I wanted to make him pay for all the times he touched Tim or used him in bed when he should have been making love to him and treating him like the beautiful, good, amazing man that he is. I made a mental note to kick the fucker in the 'nads for that at least once.

I looked at the neat stack of copies of the Thor DVD on my desk and smiled. Four of them were going in my safe deposit box at the bank. Each was addressed to a different key contact in Steve Brewer's life - his boss, his parents, the guy he'd already started seeing while he was pretending to want Tim back, and the membership committee for the country club he belonged to. And the fifth? That was for Steve, when I paid him a visit.

I thought about calling Tim, asking him how he was doing. He'd insisted on going to work, though he went in about ten instead of eight. He was sore and his face was colorful, but he said he had a lot to do, and most of it was paperwork in his office, so his appearance wouldn't cause too many problems. Like I fucking cared about what someone thought of his appearance. I was worried about him. How he felt.

We'd spent the evening on the couch together, him all cuddled up in my arms. He didn't say much after I dragged the details out of him, but despite whatever Thor said, Timothy is not clingy ordinarily. He's warm and affectionate, but not clingy. After what he'd been through, he was a little clingy. I would have given up my detective business without reservation to be there for him to cling to, and if my client wanted her thousand bucks back because my boyfriend got hurt and I had to be there, she was welcome to roll those bills up and insert them at whatever angle they fit. I hated to break it to her, but if her husband was having an affair, he would screw his girlfriend another night.

I hope Tim never again says something like, "I shouldn't have called you." I hope I can do a good enough job of letting him know how much I love him, and that I want his hurts and his fears and his bad times along with all the good things, too.

Shit, that sounded frighteningly like "for better or for worse." I should have been terrified, but instead, I was even happier.

I picked up the phone and dialed his cell number. After a few rings, he answered.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little soft.

"How're you doin', honey?" I asked.

"Okay. I'm just sitting at the computer right now working on some research for a speech the senator's giving this weekend."

"I meant, how are you feeling?"

"Not too bad. My side still hurts, and I've got a mild headache, but I'm all right."

"Think you'll be up to a late dinner? I have something I need to take care of and then I should be free about seven."

"Don, please, if you're going after Steve, think about what you're doing," he whispered into the phone. "I don't want you to get hurt, and I don't want you to end up in jail."

"I thought you were going to trust me, sweetheart," I said, but I said it gently. I wasn't scolding him, but I didn't want him to worry. Thor was a garden-variety bully, and the day I can't outsmart one of those, I hope someone puts me out of my misery.

"I do, it's not that," he replied, and then he was quiet a minute. "I don't want to lose you."

"You couldn't do that if you tried, beautiful," I said, and I didn't care if I was spilling my guts. Thinking of him with those big bruises on his beautiful face, in pain from that asshole kicking him, I wanted those words to wrap around him like I would have done myself if I had been with him and not on the other end of a stupid cell phone. "I love you, remember?" I added, and there was a brief silence.

"I love you, too," he responded, and I could tell his voice was a little strained.

"Everything's going to be okay, I promise. I'll be careful, I won't do anything stupid, and I won't even get myself arrested. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied, and I could hear a smile in his voice now. "Ouch. Damn."

"Split opened again?" I asked, knowing his lip was bothering him, but also knowing that meant his smile was really, really wide, and that made me smile.

"Yes, damn it," he mumbled.

"You need to keep it moist."

"I know. I put some lip balm on it - "

"You know, like having your boyfriend lick it for you."

"That's better than lip balm, huh?" he asked, chuckling. I loved to hear him sort of laughing. It meant he felt better now than before I called. If I ruled the world, Timothy would never have another unhappy moment in his life.

"Don't know if it's better, but it's more fun for me," I replied, laughing. "You want to go out or eat in?"

"I look like crap and everybody stares at me wherever I go. I feel like the Elephant Man," he added, and I laughed out loud at that.

"Oh, honey, you're beautiful. A little colorful, but still beautiful. You wanna go out someplace nice and stare back at them?"

"How about if I fix dinner at my place?"

"You should take it easy, honey."

"I'm just banged up a little, Don. I can still cook, and we could have a nice evening together."

"We'll eat in, but I'll bring takeout."

"No, you won't. You blew off your client last night, and if you don't think I can figure that cost you something, then you don't think I'm very smart."

"I can afford some food."

"So can I. Dinner's on me, and I'm cooking you something at my place."

"I guess that's settled, then," I replied, smiling, getting a preview of the iron will I would live to encounter more than once in our relationship.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to - "

"No, it's okay. I like it when you...dominate me," I teased, and he laughed.

"Ow, damn it."

"I'll leave you alone. I hate to keep making your crack open like that," I added, and there was muffled laughter on the other end of the line, along with a little more quiet cursing.

"I'll get you for that, Donald Strachey," he responded.

"I'm counting on it. See you tonight, honey. Don't worry about anything, okay?"

"Okay. I love you," he said, and even though we were repeating ourselves a little, now that those three little words were out there, they were so sweet to use, and so good to hear.

"I love you, too." I broke the connection, sighing and grinning like a lovesick sap at the phone.

I didn't have any other client appointments that afternoon, so I was already in my Thor-slaying outfit. Jeans that didn't fit too well, a t-shirt, and a baggy hoodie over the top of the whole thing. I wanted him to see a short, dumpy guy who was no threat. Big guys can be really fun to take on, because if they've got a few inches and a few pounds on you, they figure you're toast. You're a little guy with a death wish. Especially if they don't see evidence that you've spent much time in the gym. Thor didn't need to see my build until I was ready to wipe the floor with him. No offense to Timothy, but he's no trained fighter, and if he could give a guy that size a run for his money in a fight, I figured Thor was muscle-bound and tall, but not too bright and not very well-trained. I don't have that problem.

Sitting on the hood of an overpriced SUV in the parking garage of Thor's apartment complex, I was starting to get bored. From the snooping around I'd done on him up to now, I knew he usually got home about six. It was six-fifteen. I didn't want to call Tim to tell him to hold off on dinner, because I figured he'd have all kinds of questions and be even more freaked out if I didn't answer them.

Just when I was about to give up on him, Thor drove in and jerked his red BMW to a stop in his usual parking spot. Engineering business must be good. A moment later, he got out of the car, and I walked casually toward him, hands in the pockets of my hoodie. He looked up at me, and for a moment, he looked like he expected me to mug him.

"Hey, Thor, God of Thunder, how's it hangin'?" I asked, tossing a copy of the DVD on the cement at his feet. The clatter of the plastic case was loud in the parking garage. The building was undergoing a remodeling job, so Thor and his neighbor, the one who probably would have lain an egg or two to see me sitting on his $50,000 SUV, were the only two tenants on that floor. We had time and privacy.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, man. I'd recognize you anywhere, even without the boots and helmet with the little wings on them."

He picked up the DVD. "What do you want?"

"Aside from the excitement of meeting the God of Thunder in person, you mean?"

"Cut the shit. You didn't come here to get my fucking autograph."

"No, you know you're right, I didn't. But I did want to get a good look at you in person. The production quality on that DVD is kind of shitty. You should hire a better camera crew next time."

"I'm not playing with you, man," he said, giving me the full menace treatment, moving closer.

"I didn't want to get a good look at you because of that piece of crap," I said, gesturing at the DVD. "I wanted to get a good look at the kind of low-life asshole who knocks someone out and kicks them when they're unconscious."

"So you're the new boyfriend?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He shook his head, laughing. "You're the best Tim could do?"

"No, I imagine Timothy could have any man he wanted. I just got lucky. Apparently you were too fucking stupid to figure out how good you had it. Or did you, finally, and that's why you were still sending him roses and so fucking pissed off when he threw them back in your face?"

"He's a drama queen. You're welcome to him. Just a word of friendly advice - the sex never gets any better no matter what you do, so save your money on romancing him. Just fuck him when you can get him to come across."

I hoped the first swing would come as enough of a surprise to him to knock him on his ass. It did. While he was getting back on his feet, I yanked off my sweatshirt and got ready to mix it up with him. Looking back on it, it was fun. It was the most fun I'd had since the military, when I took on some guy half again my size during hand-to-hand combat training. Or should I say, took out a guy half again my size. He was down for the count in a few strategic moves, even though he'd been posturing a few minutes before that, convinced that there was no way I could take him on.

We fought long and hard, exchanging blows, kicks, shoves, and just about every fight move I had in my arsenal. I knew I was getting banged up, I could feel it. I took comfort in the fact he was getting banged up worse, and when it was over, I'd have Tim to clean me up and kiss my boo-boos while he'd be crawling up to his empty apartment like a whipped dog. That imagery gave me the second wind I needed, and when he fell to the ground after a particularly nasty blow that must have really smarted, I wiped the blood under my nose with the back of my hand.

"You ready to stay down, hot shot, or you coming back for more?" I challenged, enjoying the moment of looming over him.

"I'm gonna kill you, you son of a bitch," he spat, struggling to his feet.

"Really?" I stepped back a couple paces, sighing, as if I were just patiently waiting for him to get his shit together. Truthfully, I was getting tired and sore, and I was more than ready to quit, but he was gonna holler uncle. I was going to have that satisfaction of reducing him to that.

"You crazy fucker. I could call the cops on you."

"Sure you could, if you're too much of a pansy to fight your own battles. If you can't hold your own with a guy my size," I added. I knew that would piss him off and he'd go for it with a move that was aggressive and scary-looking, but not very well thought out. I countered it with a couple basic self-defense moves, and then gave him that long overdue kick in the 'nads I'd promised myself. While he was curled in on himself, groaning, I crouched so we were eye to eye. "Are we done yet?" I asked.

"You're a dead man," he growled, though he showed no signs of getting up for round two.

"You better hope I have a long, healthy life, and that Tim lives long and prospers, too. Let me tell you why. I have a neat little stack of those DVD's in a safe deposit box in the bank. If anything happens to me, or if Timothy even expresses the slightest distress over something you say or do to him, or you ever show up in our lives again, one will go to your parents - John and Katherine - in Brooklyn, one will go to your boss, at your fancy offices at Carson Engineering, one will go to your new boyfriend - who, by the way, really doesn't hold a candle to Tim, if we're being honest here. Talk about settling," I added, snorting. "And, finally, one to the membership committee at that fancy country club you just got into last year. You know the one you liked to take Tim along to so you had someone who actually knew his way around a tennis court and had the polish to make you look good with all those fancy people you're never going to be quite good enough to fit in with on your own."

I smiled, even though it was aggravating a split in my lip now. "Yeah, I did a little checking on you, pal. I know where you work, play, sleep, eat, shit, and fuck. And I've got more copies of that DVD, and I know where it came from, and all the seedy connections you have to go through in the adult entertainment business to get one. I also know what a crowd pleaser you really were at the Ambrosia Club, and buddy, it's safe to say it wasn't from your talent as a dancer."

He rose a bit until he was sitting.

"This isn't over."

"You wanna go for the title, champ? Be my guest," I stood, backing up a little, giving him the "come on" gesture with both hands.

"This is blackmail."

"I'd call it insurance. Insurance that you stay the hell away from Timothy and let him get on with his life without dealing with you." I shook my head, smiling. "As for me, I don't need the fucking DVD's, because if you ever lay a hand on Timothy again, what I'll do to you will make this look like a tap dancing lesson."

********

I was pacing back and forth, checking the clock every five minutes. It wasn't that I was so worried about the food. I knew better than to put the finishing touches on anything until Don showed up, given his schedule, but I knew what he was up to, that it had to do with Steve, and no matter how many times he reassured me he knew what he was doing, I couldn't believe it wouldn't be a disaster. Not because I didn't trust Don, but because...I was just so afraid of losing him. Of him ending up in jail. Or worse.

I'd changed into some casual pants and a sweater when I got home, but now I was thinking of taking the sweater off because I get warm when I get nervous, and I was nervous. Just as I looked at the clock again, the key turned in the door, and it opened. A moment later, Don came in, looking battered and disheveled in jeans and a sweatshirt, his face looking worse than mine did.

"Oh, my God, Donald!" I exclaimed, unable to contain my reaction. I rushed to him and then froze, not sure how badly he was hurt, and if me throwing my arms around him would cause more pain than pleasure. He solved the whole dilemma by hugging me instead.

"It's okay, honey," he said, in that tone of voice he uses with me when he thinks I'm about to have a psychotic break over something he's done to himself. "You should see the other guy," he added, a definite note of achievement in his voice. Well, this time, if he wanted to do some macho posturing, he'd earned it.

"Come to the kitchen at sit down. I'll get you cleaned up," I said, guiding him to a chair. He sat there, looking at me with all the love in the world. "Tell me what happened," I said, my hands shaking as I gathered the first aid supplies. Little did I know how many times I'd need those in the years to come.

I couldn't help wondering if Steve was in an alley somewhere, wondering if the cops would be at the door, wondering what he could have possibly done to end the whole Steve issue.

"I confronted Thor, threatened him with sending copies of his little dance video to everyone in his life who matters, including the membership committee at his country club, and then he just had to open his big mouth once too often, and I shut it for him." He held up his hands to forestall my ongoing anxiety over the whole situation. "He's very much alive. He just looks worse than I do and has some really sore balls."

"He could call the police," I said, still worried that somehow I'd lose him, that this would all backfire, that Steve would somehow get the last laugh.

"Not likely. He knows if he makes trouble for us, either one of us, those DVD's are going to some people he really doesn't want to see them."

I started cleaning up his face, using a wet cloth to clean the blood, antiseptic ointment on the scrapes - he had more damage under his sweatshirt from landing on the cement floor of Steve's parking garage multiple times. With his sweatshirt and t-shirt tossed aside, I tried not to think too much about the firmness of those muscles, the softness of his skin under my fingers, how much I wanted him. How beautiful the chest was that I hadn't seen until then. Bizarre how the first time we saw each other shirtless was to patch up injuries. He'd looked at my bruises and put some ice on my side the night before, and here I was tending to scrapes and bruises on him.

"None of this would have been worth it if you'd been seriously hurt," I said, pausing long enough to take one of his hands in both of mine. "I love you, Donald. I don't want to see you hurt, not for any reason. Wouldn't the DVD's have been enough to keep him from bothering us again?"

"Possibly, but I had a score to settle with him. He beat you up, felt you up, and treated you like shit. If you're gonna be with me, you'll need to get used to the idea that I'm not gonna sit back and let it pass when someone hurts you." I could see the flare of temper in his eyes, but I could see and hear the love, too. I also heard the hint he was thinking long-term. My heart did a little dance.

"I want to be with you," I said, and I hoped that was a not too scary way to let him know I was in it for as long as he was. "My hero," I added, and I hoped I said it with enough sincerity that he knew I meant it. He was my hero, it wasn't a joke. "You don't have to put yourself in danger to be my hero, Don, I mean it. I know you're brave, and you're strong, and you love me."

"I do love you, Timothy." He kissed my hand. I didn't think I could possibly love someone the way I loved him at that moment. I stroked his hair, touched my forehead to his. And then I kissed him, not really needing to worry about my split lip or his, because we were gentle with each other, instinctively gentle, but at the same time, we both knew this kiss was different. As it flowed into another and another and another, I didn't want to stop, and he didn't show any signs of slowing down either.

Suddenly, I didn't want to wait for the weekend, I didn't want anything fancy or different or...or...elaborate about our first time. I only wanted him, I wanted our bodies to come together, I wanted to physically consummate the intense feelings I had for him and I didn't care where it happened. Or, maybe I did, and maybe I wanted it to be there, not somewhere that would be about the place and not about what was happening between us. I didn't care if he had any money or could afford to pay for a getaway. I didn't have all that much, either, and there wasn't enough money on earth to buy the way we felt for each other at that moment.

We didn't need words, so we didn't bother with them as we walked hand in hand into the bedroom. I took off my glasses and he pulled my sweater and my t-shirt over my head in one smooth move. While he was kissing me, his hands were roaming all over my chest, my back, sliding down to my pants. I was indulging in stroking and kissing those muscles, marveling over the softness of his skin, the play of the light on the pale gold hair on his arms, the tenderness in his embrace despite the strength in those arms.

I kissed and licked at his neck, sucking a little when I heard him moan and felt him lean into the contact. He smelled good and tasted good. Before long, our mouths were back together, exploring each other. When we fell together on the bed, we momentarily parted, each letting out an "oomph" of pain as we hit our various sore spots. That made us laugh, and our kisses were slowed down by bumping our teeth into each other. It sounds awful, but it felt wonderful and there was little better than laughter to express the kind of joy we felt together.

With some struggling and a few more grunts of pain at the stretching of various bruised parts, we managed to get our pants off, and even had the presence of mind to toe off our shoes, since there's nothing less sexy than trying to make love with your pants still around your ankles.

His legs were strong and sturdy, but that was no surprise. There was more of that soft gold hair on fair skin, and I loved the way our legs contrasted with each other as they brushed against each other, my darker body hair such a difference from his. My arms were around him, and I let my hands stray down to his ass, loving the way those perfect cheeks filled my hands, the way he gasped and arched into me when I touched him there. He was getting hard and so was I, and I hoped I didn't lose it when his hand slid down and cupped my balls, teasing me.

We were rubbing against each other, kissing, touching, getting to know each other's bodies. He kissed my chest, rubbed his cheek against it, like he was testing the way it felt. I hoped he liked it. Some guys like hairy chests, some don't. He licked my nipple and I almost came right then. He played with it with his tongue, nudging it, licking it, then sucking it. I gasped out loud, and he smiled, moving to the other one, making them feel sensitive and charged, like every flick of his tongue was a little spark of electricity that traveled straight to my cock.

I shifted our position enough so I could taste him, kiss my way down his chest, suck his nipples, make him as crazy as he was making me. It felt good and right and perfect and I'd never loved anyone like this before. I never wanted anyone this much, and I could feel how much he wanted me, too. But underneath that, in every kiss, every caress, even every flick of the tongue, I could feel how much he loved me. That he wanted my body and my mind and my heart and my spirit, not just my ass or my cock or my mouth. He wanted my annoying qualities and my virtues and my quirks and my tears and my laughter. He wanted a life with me in it. All of me. Just the way I am. Every time he looked at me, I could see how much he loved me, and it was all there in his touches, his kisses, the sound of his moans, gasps, and little love words that seemed to slip out unplanned.

We reached for the night stand at the same time, which made us both laugh, albeit a little breathlessly now. I guess there wasn't a much clearer signal that we were in sync with each other.

I was surprised when he handed me the lube and the condoms and rolled onto his stomach. I don't know why I assumed he'd want to be inside me, or maybe I wanted him there so I just thought that's how it would go. Now that I was presented with his beautiful body and his complete, loving surrender, I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than to be inside him, to accept that trust, and to show him so much love that he'd never get over it. That he'd never get over me. I never wanted him to. I knew I'd never get over him even after I'd taken my last breath.

I eased myself on top of him, kissing his back and his shoulders, massaging him, relaxing him. He had the most perfect back I had ever seen. Smooth skin over perfectly toned muscles, tapering down to a beautifully shaped ass. There was a tattoo of an eagle at the small of his back, and for some reason, I loved it on him. I'd never been into tattoos all that much, and don't have any myself, but on Donald, they were beautiful. Maybe a body that beautifully sculpted should be painted a little, too, I don't know. I just know that everything about him made my heart swell with love and passion, and I took my time teasing him with a lubricated finger, stroking the valley between those lovely cheeks, teasing his center, finally easing my finger into him as I kissed him, and stroked him with my free hand.

When I slid inside him, I took my time, wanting him to feel nothing but love, nothing but pleasure. I didn't want him to be the object of clumsy fumbling and perfunctory poking. There are moments in your life you know are life-altering, and this was perhaps the greatest one - or the second greatest, after meeting him in the first place.

We moved together, our rhythm setting itself, naturally, as if we'd been lovers for years. I pressed my body against him, caressed his arms and shoulders, lay my head against the back of his, so I could tell him how much I loved him while our bodies were joined. I never thought of sex as a kind of erotic dance until I made love to Donald that night. I don't mean I never enjoyed it, but I never rejoiced  in it. I never felt it in my heart and soul, like it was something sacred and beautiful and spiritual, as well as physical.

Our climaxes were so close, so in tune with each other they were almost simultaneous. For a long time we lay there in the shadows, a little light spilling in from the hall, the sounds of traffic on the street below, and even the sound of my telephone ringing and someone leaving a message on my machine. I didn't care who it was. The only reason I was glad to take notice of those things was that it reassured me this wasn't a dream. That I wouldn't wake up alone, or worse, with Steve.

We finally moved, changed positions so we were on our sides, sharing a pillow, holding each other, still touching each other with gentle hands, still getting to know each other in this intimate way. I felt embarrassed that I had tears in my eyes, until I saw that he did, too. I knew for me it was because I felt like I'd just made love for the first time in my life. I was with someone I loved, and I felt like we were there, together, for all the right reasons. My heart and my soul felt good, as well as my body. For so long, they had felt empty and I'd really searched for the meaning in two bodies coming together beyond the obvious. This was it. This was the reason God made two people capable of expressing with their bodies a very deep, intimate, sacred emotion. This was the meaning of love.

I kissed him, and he latched onto my mouth eagerly, and I don't know how long we just lay there kissing, touching, looking into each other's eyes. We both felt that delicious relaxation that comes after sex, but neither one of us wanted to roll over and take a nap. We dozed a little with our faces so close together that we shared breath, that we were almost napping mid-kiss.

I stopped worrying about making him feel trapped or clung to or anything else. I held onto him and I whispered love words in his ear, and let him know how precious he was to me and how glad I was to have him in my life. Before we finally fell asleep, he looked at me with one of those amazing smiles, told me he loved me, and called me sweetheart.

I had a feeling being his sweetheart was going to be the sweetest part of the rest of my life.