(Disney) Porky

[salmon_pink]

Title: Porky
Fandom: Disney (Toy Story)
Pairing: Hamm/Andy
Rating: R
Words: 898
Notes: Voyeurism. For a prompt at the disney_kink meme.
A/N: I told myself I wasn't going to look at any more disney_kink prompts until I'd gone back and finished all the ones I started before life got in the way. Clearly I am weak. Also, I have no idea what this fic even is, other than messed up.
Summary: Hamm had never been the favourite, but now he was the only one left to watch Andy grow older.



Hamm was never the favourite. He understood that. Cowboy dolls, space ranger action figures, those were the toys that got to be favourites. Toys with voice boxes and flashing lights and a tv show hanging off their vinyl shoulders.

Hamm was a piggybank. Piggybanks weren’t the favourites.

But they were useful.

Which was why Hamm got to hold on to Andy longer than any of the others.

It was kind of a selfish thought, but Hamm had never had much of a problem with being selfish. He’d always been good at looking out for himself.

The truth was, piggybanks weren’t toys. Not really. And maybe that had always been there, at the back of his mind. Like he was just waiting for Andy to realise that him playing with a piggybank made about as much sense as playing with a coin purse.

But Andy was a special kid, the kind who could take a piggybank and turn him into a world-class super villain with just a slightly lowered voice and a snazzy bowler hat.

Man, Potatohead used to get pissed about Hamm using his hat during playtime.

But playtime was long passed.

Hamm got to watch as, one by one, toys were sold off or given away. A core group remained, but even they weren’t safe from the passage of time, and eventually the day came when even Woody and Buzz were thrown in the chest with the Potatoheads, Rex, Slink, Jessie, Bullseye and the aliens.

But Hamm stayed on the shelf.

Because Hamm was useful.

Hamm got to watch Andy continue to grow older from the comfort of his spot above Andy’s desk, whereas the others could only sneak their stolen glances while Andy slept.

Most importantly, Hamm got to be held.

Hamm still wasn’t the favourite. But he was the only one who got that kind of attention from Andy.

The only one to be paid attention. The worst one to be paid attention.

The others, they didn’t seem to realise what it meant that Andy was growing up. Some were too naïve, some were just too stubborn to acknowledge it, too determined to stand by their role as a child’s toy.

But Hamm wasn’t a toy. Not really.

So Hamm very much understood what it meant that Andy was growing up. He understood the growth spurts, measured them by the size of Andy’s hands as they cradled him, shaking him lightly to hear the chime of coins inside.

Hamm understood what it meant when Andy began to squirm and shiver in his sleep, when he blushed bright red in the mornings and dragged the sheets down to the laundry basket. Hamm understood what it meant when Andy began to curl up under the covers and bite at the pillow to muffle his groans, steady rhythmic motion of his hands moving against fabric the only other sound in the eerie silence. Hamm understood what it meant when Andy began keeping tissues and lotion in his bedside drawer and when he began to hide magazines under his mattress.

Hamm understood oh so well, and his eyes began to follow Andy’s hands, the lazy everyday movements of them. Tapping a pencil against the desk as he sketched. Digging his nail into the peel of a satsuma. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear or scratching at the freckles that covered his nose.

Hamm knew what those hands did, and that was his knowledge alone, and Andy was his alone, and he still wasn’t the favourite but none of that mattered any more.

By the time Andy’s palm was wide enough to cover Hamm’s entire belly, he was having to bite down on the urge to squirm in Andy’s grip. Andy would jiggle him lightly, coins clinking together and then sometimes, just sometimes, Andy would have a new coin, something he trusted Hamm to hold on to for him.

Andy shouldn’t have trusted Hamm. Shouldn’t have, couldn’t have known the thoughts that crossed Hamm’s mind when Andy held up a new shiny silver nickel or quarter. Couldn’t have known the way Hamm would picture Andy at his desk, sprawled back against his computer chair with his drawstring sleep pants pushed low on his hips, hands moving obscenely between his legs. The same hands that held Hamm, slid coins into his slot, made Hamm feel hot and breathless and so very much not like a toy.

Sure, he knew that even though he wasn’t a toy, he would still cease to be useful one day. Andy had his own bank account, ordered things online, had less and less need for small change.

But those extra years that Hamm got to share with Andy were years the others spent trapped in that chest, not seeing what Andy had become, not seeing what it meant.

Not appreciating this next stage in Andy’s life, not in the way Hamm appreciated it.

And it was kind of a selfish thought, but Hamm had never had much of a problem with being selfish, especially if it meant keeping this side of Andy to himself. He may not have been Andy’s favourite, but Andy was Hamm’s favourite.

So Hamm sat on his shelf, with his perfect view of Andy’s new life, watching Andy’s hands.

And sometimes, just sometimes, sneaking a coin from his belly to leave somewhere it could be found, nice and easy.