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alexdraven Jul. 22nd, 2004 06:49 pm)
alexdraven Jul. 22nd, 2004 06:49 pm)One-shot, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saunteringdown's Twisted Slash Challenge
***** ***** *****
I don't normally try to pull at festivals –daylight makes it that much more likely that people will see past the uniform and the attention to detail and register what I actually look like soon enough to go pick up someone else.
If that sounds self pitying, it isn’t, it's just realism. I was never exactly Calvin Klein material to start with, and my scars aren’t really the sort of thing that says 'dashing exciting bad-boy' if you know what I mean. Even if it was a bike accident, which sounds like a proper man's man sort of a way to bust yourself up. Thing is that only applies when you heal up a-ok afterwards, and not so much when your one side of your neck is slick crinkled burn tissue. Thank fuck for helmets and leathers. Yeah, I do wish I'd done up the collar. No you're not the first person to wonder. It was really hot.
So anyway – I never expected to hook up. It was just a day out – met up with a bunch of friends, took my place in the march moving a little to the XXL float's music and shaking a bucket for the Green Apple Therapy centre. Watching people check out the uniform starting with the spit shined boots and working up. A pretty damn good day, really, feeling that community vibe, and seeing the flags flying and the bills going into the bucket. Green Apple do good work, and not just for aids stuff.
It was a good day all the way round the route till we were going through the Lanes, at least. It always gets kind of crowded down that way, and I think one of the floats up at the front had water pistols or something, 'cos if was pretty slick, and it's all cobblestones, so when that little rat Tony just *had* to stop dead and say hi to someone just as I was turning round, we ended up with a pile up, and there's me on the floor underneath everyone with a twisted ankle. Not the end of the world, but I didn’t make it to the end of the lane before that sucker really got to throbbing and made it pretty clear it was the end of my march.
Everyone was being real sweet, but the show must go on, right? So I handed my bucket over to Ben and waved my cell phone at them and told them I'd be fine and would they please hurry up and catch up with the others. 'Course it's much easier to keep that up for an audience, and by the time I'd pushed through the crowd to get to a doorstep I could sit on I wasn't half so perky, and I may have snapped somewhat when some helpful stranger put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was ok, because I thought it was fairly clear that I wasn't, and I never have been good at taking sympathy. I didn't deserve sympathy and I definitely didn't deserve Scott smiling and saying as how he'd seen me go down and did I want to sit a spell, or try and make it as far as Joe's Joe and introducing himself and threatening to make me ice it right there in the street after he mugged one of the bottle peddlers for some ice water.
No, I never did deserve that guy, and he made me smile, and wrapped his arm round my waist and we made it to the café and he made good on the threat to make me an ice pack and I made good on mine to buy him a drink, and we talked some, and flirted a lot. I'm tall and I'm into uniforms, and you have no idea how long it had been since I'd flirted with someone who wasn't thinking about what it would be like to have me order him around.
There's a type – mostly younger than me, lots of the gym-bunnies or Aryan Nation freaks, and half of them want to bully you into taking command and the other half just whine for it, and far be it for me to turn down hot guys wanting to blow me, but it's not actually my bag. Scott's nothing like them, kind of chubby, with his hair all over the place and about as casual as they come, but you've heard him chuckle and seen that smile, and do you care that he's one crooked tooth? Well exactly. It was real nice, just talking, without the expectation that I'd take control, and he kept fussing with the ice pack, kept his fingers on my ankle, where it was propped up on one of those little iron chairs they have there. It was nice.
It didn't get to sparks and fireworks till he kissed me. It was getting dark by then, and Scott had one of the waiters call me a cab, and he walked me out, me limping and hanging off his shoulder like a drunk. We were waiting on the corner of Beltcher and Harrison, and he didn't move his arm from round my waist, and I didn't stop leaning, for all he's shorter than me, and he kissed me for the first time standing right there.
Kissed me till my head was spinning and I had the scruff of his chin against the back of my fingers, and he was sliding his hands up my neck into my hair and his tongue against mine. The cab hit his horn, which is when Scott bit down on my lip a little, and I swear something short-circuited in my brain. Left me blinking while he opened the cab door and tucked me into it. He pushed a card into my hand, told me to call him, and rapped on the top of the cab, stepping back. I watched him standing there in the street lights till we turned the corner, and he didn't move once, just stood their and watched me go, and you bet I called him. I called him the next day, and the one after that, and we’ve spoken, the two of us, every day since then. Sometimes it's the phone and sometimes I'm visiting or he's visiting, but every day he makes me smile and I call him beautiful, and it's good. I don’t want to stop, and he hasn’t said that he does, so we carry right along, and it's one good thing that I never expected and probably don’t deserve, but I give thanks for it anyhow.
saunteringdown's Twisted Slash Challenge***** ***** *****
I don't normally try to pull at festivals –daylight makes it that much more likely that people will see past the uniform and the attention to detail and register what I actually look like soon enough to go pick up someone else.
If that sounds self pitying, it isn’t, it's just realism. I was never exactly Calvin Klein material to start with, and my scars aren’t really the sort of thing that says 'dashing exciting bad-boy' if you know what I mean. Even if it was a bike accident, which sounds like a proper man's man sort of a way to bust yourself up. Thing is that only applies when you heal up a-ok afterwards, and not so much when your one side of your neck is slick crinkled burn tissue. Thank fuck for helmets and leathers. Yeah, I do wish I'd done up the collar. No you're not the first person to wonder. It was really hot.
So anyway – I never expected to hook up. It was just a day out – met up with a bunch of friends, took my place in the march moving a little to the XXL float's music and shaking a bucket for the Green Apple Therapy centre. Watching people check out the uniform starting with the spit shined boots and working up. A pretty damn good day, really, feeling that community vibe, and seeing the flags flying and the bills going into the bucket. Green Apple do good work, and not just for aids stuff.
It was a good day all the way round the route till we were going through the Lanes, at least. It always gets kind of crowded down that way, and I think one of the floats up at the front had water pistols or something, 'cos if was pretty slick, and it's all cobblestones, so when that little rat Tony just *had* to stop dead and say hi to someone just as I was turning round, we ended up with a pile up, and there's me on the floor underneath everyone with a twisted ankle. Not the end of the world, but I didn’t make it to the end of the lane before that sucker really got to throbbing and made it pretty clear it was the end of my march.
Everyone was being real sweet, but the show must go on, right? So I handed my bucket over to Ben and waved my cell phone at them and told them I'd be fine and would they please hurry up and catch up with the others. 'Course it's much easier to keep that up for an audience, and by the time I'd pushed through the crowd to get to a doorstep I could sit on I wasn't half so perky, and I may have snapped somewhat when some helpful stranger put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was ok, because I thought it was fairly clear that I wasn't, and I never have been good at taking sympathy. I didn't deserve sympathy and I definitely didn't deserve Scott smiling and saying as how he'd seen me go down and did I want to sit a spell, or try and make it as far as Joe's Joe and introducing himself and threatening to make me ice it right there in the street after he mugged one of the bottle peddlers for some ice water.
No, I never did deserve that guy, and he made me smile, and wrapped his arm round my waist and we made it to the café and he made good on the threat to make me an ice pack and I made good on mine to buy him a drink, and we talked some, and flirted a lot. I'm tall and I'm into uniforms, and you have no idea how long it had been since I'd flirted with someone who wasn't thinking about what it would be like to have me order him around.
There's a type – mostly younger than me, lots of the gym-bunnies or Aryan Nation freaks, and half of them want to bully you into taking command and the other half just whine for it, and far be it for me to turn down hot guys wanting to blow me, but it's not actually my bag. Scott's nothing like them, kind of chubby, with his hair all over the place and about as casual as they come, but you've heard him chuckle and seen that smile, and do you care that he's one crooked tooth? Well exactly. It was real nice, just talking, without the expectation that I'd take control, and he kept fussing with the ice pack, kept his fingers on my ankle, where it was propped up on one of those little iron chairs they have there. It was nice.
It didn't get to sparks and fireworks till he kissed me. It was getting dark by then, and Scott had one of the waiters call me a cab, and he walked me out, me limping and hanging off his shoulder like a drunk. We were waiting on the corner of Beltcher and Harrison, and he didn't move his arm from round my waist, and I didn't stop leaning, for all he's shorter than me, and he kissed me for the first time standing right there.
Kissed me till my head was spinning and I had the scruff of his chin against the back of my fingers, and he was sliding his hands up my neck into my hair and his tongue against mine. The cab hit his horn, which is when Scott bit down on my lip a little, and I swear something short-circuited in my brain. Left me blinking while he opened the cab door and tucked me into it. He pushed a card into my hand, told me to call him, and rapped on the top of the cab, stepping back. I watched him standing there in the street lights till we turned the corner, and he didn't move once, just stood their and watched me go, and you bet I called him. I called him the next day, and the one after that, and we’ve spoken, the two of us, every day since then. Sometimes it's the phone and sometimes I'm visiting or he's visiting, but every day he makes me smile and I call him beautiful, and it's good. I don’t want to stop, and he hasn’t said that he does, so we carry right along, and it's one good thing that I never expected and probably don’t deserve, but I give thanks for it anyhow.
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From:
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Thank you for Alice. I owe you one.
Sincerely,
Sandra
***
That was sweet and eee, one shot is all it takes to hit the bullseye. And that was so cheesy I'll have to thwap myself. ::does so::
I adore your writing v. much. :) Thank you.
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thank *you* and ::blushes::
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And, yes, gravel-rash is extremely nasty, which is why my dad always made me wear my mother's leather trench *and* a jumper and jeans with my mother's old boots when it was *boiling* hot. Nice to see that realism there. [She said, like an expert.] :)
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