Alan takes a few moments to evaluate the possibility he might still be dreaming, then exhales firmly. "Paul."
There's a moment of silence and Alan's considering he may have to do something drastic, possibly even exerting himself to flip on the light, then Paul says in the same toneless voice, "I just left a crime scene where the mob decided to punish an informant by beating his wife, father, and daughter to death. When he got home, he saw the mess and pulled his gun on himself. I was about to head home and pop some valium so that I could enter a blissful state of unconsciousness for several hours when I recalled that I currently have three fucked-up Irish vigilantes in my apartment taking the couch and bed, and that I had planned to book a hotel for the night and forgotten. Then I remembered that you have a hotel room so I just decided to claim yours in the name of the federal government. You can enthrall me with your knowledge of the statutes limiting seizure of private property in the morning."
Alan rolls back over and looks. Paul's sitting the edge of the bed now, back pale in the dark. He hears Paul take a breath, slow and even in the quiet of the room, then say, "I was just going to take your couch without waking you, but yours has that fucking shiny leather upholstery shit on it. Past experience has taught me I slide right off that stuff."
Alan's turn to be quiet for a moment, watching the rigid line of Paul's shoulders, imagining a foot pushing at the gas pedal, pushing at the brakes, no reaction. The red numbers on the clock click over another minute, and Alan says calmly, "And suppose I'd had company?"
There's only a tiny beat before Paul says, some expression creeping back into his voice, "Shoot them, of course."
Alan feels something tugging at the corner of his lips. "You'd shoot them."
"Politely."
Alan smiles a little into the darkness and closes his eyes again, moving over on the bed and managing to make it look like he's just making himself comfortable.
"But back to the part where you broke into my room..."
"Nothing of the sort. The hotel staff were happy to cooperate with me when I flashed my badge. They seemed unsurprised that the FBI wanted to speak with you."
"I wouldn't call it speech, exactly. Their eloquence doesn't usually extend beyond a slap on the wrist. Anyways, they're hardly the scariest of the acronym-bearing organizations who seek me out," Alan murmurs, trailing off into a yawn.
"Yeah, I heard about that thing with you and the IRS..."
"You're going to have be more specific than that." The darkness is warm again with sleep; Alan allows himself to drift back towards it, paying no attention to whatever it is Paul answers him with. Or maybe there is no answer, just a silence, the silence of unspoken gratitude for the certain kindnesses they manage to show each other.
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3pipeproblem) wrote2005-10-10 09:17 am
Re: beware my fluff
There's a moment of silence and Alan's considering he may have to do something drastic, possibly even exerting himself to flip on the light, then Paul says in the same toneless voice, "I just left a crime scene where the mob decided to punish an informant by beating his wife, father, and daughter to death. When he got home, he saw the mess and pulled his gun on himself. I was about to head home and pop some valium so that I could enter a blissful state of unconsciousness for several hours when I recalled that I currently have three fucked-up Irish vigilantes in my apartment taking the couch and bed, and that I had planned to book a hotel for the night and forgotten. Then I remembered that you have a hotel room so I just decided to claim yours in the name of the federal government. You can enthrall me with your knowledge of the statutes limiting seizure of private property in the morning."
Alan rolls back over and looks. Paul's sitting the edge of the bed now, back pale in the dark. He hears Paul take a breath, slow and even in the quiet of the room, then say, "I was just going to take your couch without waking you, but yours has that fucking shiny leather upholstery shit on it. Past experience has taught me I slide right off that stuff."
Alan's turn to be quiet for a moment, watching the rigid line of Paul's shoulders, imagining a foot pushing at the gas pedal, pushing at the brakes, no reaction. The red numbers on the clock click over another minute, and Alan says calmly, "And suppose I'd had company?"
There's only a tiny beat before Paul says, some expression creeping back into his voice, "Shoot them, of course."
Alan feels something tugging at the corner of his lips. "You'd shoot them."
"Politely."
Alan smiles a little into the darkness and closes his eyes again, moving over on the bed and managing to make it look like he's just making himself comfortable.
"But back to the part where you broke into my room..."
"Nothing of the sort. The hotel staff were happy to cooperate with me when I flashed my badge. They seemed unsurprised that the FBI wanted to speak with you."
"I wouldn't call it speech, exactly. Their eloquence doesn't usually extend beyond a slap on the wrist. Anyways, they're hardly the scariest of the acronym-bearing organizations who seek me out," Alan murmurs, trailing off into a yawn.
"Yeah, I heard about that thing with you and the IRS..."
"You're going to have be more specific than that." The darkness is warm again with sleep; Alan allows himself to drift back towards it, paying no attention to whatever it is Paul answers him with. Or maybe there is no answer, just a silence, the silence of unspoken gratitude for the certain kindnesses they manage to show each other.
Re: beware my fluff
"Politely."
___
HA! FIREFLY REFERENCE!
I love your crack!fic fandom mixing insanity. <3
Re: beware my fluff
Re: beware my fluff
I adore the crack!fic. Ohm, crack!fic is awesome.. Ohm, or some junk.. *meditates*
Do feel free to friend away! Though I must warn I'm a boring person.
Yay! New friends! *dances*
Re: beware my fluff