Work Text:
Troy stripped out of his suit, being none too careful with the garments. They needed to be cleaned anyway. A trek through a field over soft ground had done it's work on the hem of his trousers. He tossed them in the basket in the corner of the room along with his under clothes and turned the shower on. Tension and weariness faded under the hot water as it drummed against his back, loosening taught muscles. He was still tired, but it had become the sort of tired that felt good, felt like he had done something.
He stepped out, dried himself, and pulled on his pajamas trying not to think too hard. At least not think the thoughts that buzzed about the inside of his skull like annoying gnats. Annoying gnats that could potentially carry a nasty bite. They weren't exactly new, these thoughts, but they had become more intrusive, more difficult to ignore lately. He turned on the television, hoping to distract himself, but it proved a poor second to the object of his interest. The object of his interest being one DCI Barnaby. Troy feared he really and truly had come to fancy him.
He had always told himself that he wasn't supposed to fancy blokes. He was a man, the ladies should be the ones catching his attention. His inclinations had worried him growing up, and he firmly sat on them. And it wasn't as if he couldn't get a date with a pretty girl, and he did. And they allowed him to forget that part of himself that made him uncomfortable, made him question his manhood. What is it to be a man, anyway? He had not always been understanding or kind to those who shared and acted upon the very desires he fought down, for they held a mirror up to himself. He did not want to look in that mirror. He didn't want to be different, and he had been largely successful in ruthlessly tamping down the part of himself that would notice an attractive man walking by or sitting at the bar.
However, that part of himself had become more vocal. Two years of working with Barnaby had made it impossible to ignore, and in moments like these, exhausted after a long day, Troy found himself tired of fighting. But even if he was to admit the obvious to himself, I like men, Barnaby was his superior and a married man. The ways in which things could go wrong should Troy's secret make it out into the world were manifold.
* * *
“Sorry, sir,” Troy said, brushing past him to get to the copier, the touch of his hand on Barnaby's arm lasting a little too long.
Barnaby cataloged it away with the rest of the data. The way Troy watched him when he thought Barnaby wasn't looking, the touches that lingered, the fact that something seemed to be weighing on his Sargent. Barnaby was a man who noticed things, a skill that allowed him to be very good at his job. He had also come to a few...interesting...conclusions. As much as Troy might want to present himself as a straight man, Barnaby had come to believe that he wasn't. He doth protest too much. He smiled to himself, amused and rather touched by the young man's interest.
“Troy, we'll be driving out to the Bascolm place. I want to look at the barn again in case we missed anything.” Anything being evidence relating to an attempted murder at the hands of unknown assailants. There was something about the barn that was causing it to be the center of attention. Some people wanted to break into it, and the owner, despite the attack, was hiding something about it. Barnaby knew there was more going on there just as he was aware of his partner's difficulty.
“Do try to stay on the road, Troy.” Barnaby tensed reflexively as the car swerved far too close to the ditch than ran along side the narrow country road.
“Yes Sir, sorry.” He glanced at Barnaby in the rear view mirror, a look that Barnaby caught all too easily.
“Ah, Troy, has something been bothering you lately?” He asked, attempting to pry around the edges of Troy's little secret.
“Why do you say that?”
“You just seem not quite yourself. Is there anything going on that you want to tell me about?” He had no real expectation that Troy would simply blurt it out, but he had to lay the ground work.
For his part, Troy actually looked nervous. The tip of his pink tongue wet his lips, an unconscious action that held Barnaby's attention. “No Sir, that is, it's...nothing, Sir.”
Barnaby nodded, not believing him for an instant. “Turn here.” He pointed to the right towards an even narrower road that ran alongside a field. An old barn quickly came into view, the dark wood standing out against the vibrant spring green of the surrounding grass. Troy pulled off to the side and they ducked under the fence and began their short trek to the structure.
Barnaby paused just inside the entrance allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Dust motes danced, illuminated where sunlight slipped in through the cracks and the door to his back. Hay bales sat stacked in the far end, the remains of the winter's supply. Some tools hung on the wall, mostly for repairing fences. Aside from that, the structure appeared to be empty. He walked in looking around keenly.
“You don't have to hide from me, Troy,” he spoke into the stillness. That was a harder prod at the problem, and a calculated risk to continue to pursue it. While he was fairly positive his assumptions were correct, there was always the chance he misread the situation. Still, someone had to say something, and if he waited for Troy, well, it would be a very long wait.
“Sir?” He turned towards Barnaby, his face innocent, his manner nervous.
Ah. “Whatever it is that's bothering you. I shouldn't say whatever. I'm fairly certain I understand your dilemma. You aren't as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are.” There, he had left his young Sargent an opening a mile wide.
Troy's expression looked something like a deer faced with an oncoming vehicle. “It's a personal problem,” he said, once he shook himself out of his startlement.
“Yes, I'm aware.” He walked over to inspect the tools hanging on the opposite wall. He didn't want to put too much pressure on poor Troy. Perhaps if they weren't conversing face to face he'd feel comfortable enough to spit it out so it could be addressed.
Silence reigned aside from the creak of shoes on the wood floor. Barnaby began to fear that Troy had completely clammed up, but finally he spoke. “I fancy someone. It might not be a good idea.”
“Why do you say that? You're a good looking lad.” He wandered over to the hay bales and turned to face Troy who had closed most of the distance between them. The scent of the hay tickled Barnaby's nose.
“It's...complicated.”
Barnaby sighed. It was becoming abundantly clear that Troy wasn't going to just come out with it. He'd have to try a different tactic. He stepped closer, into Troy's space just enough to be more than friendly. “I'm not blind, Troy.”
He watched as various emotions flashed across Troy's face, confusion, hope, uncertainty. He reached up and pressed his palm to Troy's cheek, warm and smooth. “Now, is there something you want to tell me?”
* * *
Troy stared at Barnaby, his insides flip flopping as his brain attempted to process what was happening. Was he really that transparent? And was Barnaby suggesting what he seemed to be? Then he touched Troy's cheek, his hand large and strong as it cradled the side of Troy's face. He leaned into it, just a little, unable to help himself. Barnaby's thumb gently stroked his cheek as he waited expectantly for Troy to say something. Only Troy's ability to form words seemed to have fled.
He waffled for a moment, before leaning down and brushing his lips lightly across Barnaby's. The gesture felt so right, the perfect expression of the pent up emotions he had been carrying with him for months. But he also immediately regretted it. This was no longer an innuendo laden conversation that one could deny later. Troy had crossed a line, a line that could affect the relationship with his superior and with it, his career.
He pulled back quickly in a jerky movement that spoke of alarm, but Barnaby's hand slid around to cup the nape of his neck and keep him close. Suddenly Troy was hyper aware of Barnaby's hand at his neck, his gaze on him, and the slight smile he wore. Suddenly, the gentle pressure at the back of his neck became more insistent as Barnaby pulled Troy down to him. Troy acquiesced, allowing himself to be drawn further into Barnaby's space until his mouth was only bare inches away.
This time Barnaby closed the distance and pressed his lips firmly to Troy's. There was nothing shy or reticent in Barnaby's kiss, and after a moment of tension, Troy relaxed into it. Barnaby's lips nuzzled against his own, becoming more insistent. The tip of his tongue teased their surface, and Troy's stomach tightened. He automatically slipped his arms around Barnaby's solid body, parting his lips almost shyly. The voice of reason in the back of his head wondered how this could be happening, but Troy was far more intent on the moment – the way Barnaby's tongue tasted as he licked into Troy's mouth, the texture of the fabric under his hands, and the way Barnaby's arm felt wrapped around him with a comforting pressure.
Barnaby gently broke the kiss, dropping the hand that had been cupping Troy's jaw to his shoulder where he gave a squeeze. “Was that really so hard?” He asked, a little breathless himself.
Troy reluctantly released him, the world seeming suddenly off kilter. “I suppose not, but I had no idea you'd want to – you're married.”
“There is more than one kind of love, and it's possible to love more than one person.” He smiled at Troy. “I love Joyce very much, but there are some things she can't give me. We've both come to accept that.” He gave Troy's shoulder a final pat and turned back towards the hay bales. “We may need to move these. Give us a hand, will you?”
Troy did as he was told with only a slight sigh. Luckily there weren't very many bales, and the activity gave him something to do other than feel flustered. He tipped the ones on the top off the stack off with with little care or ceremony and drug the others out of the way. By the time he finished, he felt a little over warm in his jacket. He watched Barnaby inspect the floor stomping here and there. One spot sounded different, and he paused and hit it again with his foot.
He crouched down and felt around the board, pulling it up. “Well, what do we have here? Would you look at this, Troy?” He fished out a metal locked box, weighty and new looking. “I don't suppose one of those tools over there would open this?”
Troy found a sturdy looking pair of clippers and sheared through the lock. “Well, that's the answer, Sir. What those men were trying to steal.”
“It looks that way, indeed, Troy.” Barnaby smiled as he stared down at some very expensive looking jewellery. “Remember that break in two months ago? I do believe we've found the missing items.” He stood box in hand, snaking an arm briefly around Troy and kissing him again on the mouth.
“We'll need to be discreet about this, understand. That is, if you're interested?” Barnaby said as they walked back to the car.
“Yes, yes of course.” Troy grinned. He recognized that he had just been given an unexpected opportunity, and he wasn't about to squander it over self doubts that were appearing sillier the more that he looked at them. Yes, Barnaby was a man, but that didn't seem like much of a sticking point anymore.