shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-12-02 01:00:00 |
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Beautiful Plumage - L/M - PG-13
Title: Beautiful Plumage
Author:shocolate
Pairing: Luke/Malachy pre-slash
Words: 427
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warning : actual SPOILERS for Cherrybomb, with actual dialogue, not just speculation.
Forhpuckle, for bravely meeting HMS Padlock's three BNFs in Belfast… this is your chance to write the definitive Malachy/Michelle, babe - and then we can have shipping wars!
Beautiful Plumage
****
Together we thunder up the stairs in his empty house, jostling for space on the narrow landing and I fling myself on his bed. I put on some music and watch him undress. His grotty Titanic tracksuit hits the floor and he's standing in his boxers, pulling shirts out of the cupboard and trying them on for me.
Look at him fluffing his plumage like a tropical bird on the pull.
Bless.
We're gonna have a good time, tonight, I can feel it. That and the bag of blow in my pocket.
He changes his plumage - open collar and loosely knotted tie.
I like it.
I nod.
He smiles at me.
But then his ma bounds into the room, flourishing an envelope - all zero fashion sense and middle aged excitement, until she sees me and her face falls. Her smile slides off her face so fast and so obviously it's almost funny. Her eyes flick past my face and her jaw tightens as she sees the gallery of polaroids on the wall, behind my head.
Fuck, I love those polaroids.
She can ban me from the house, but she canna paint over those photos. She can't hold back the tide with Thomas the Tank Engine wallpaper.
As always, she frowns at the close up shot of my open mouth and I bite my lip to stop asking the sixty-four thousand pound question: what did he do after taking that photograph, ma McKinney? He was so close. What would you rather he did? Did he put a pill on my tongue, or did he kiss me?
Did he get me high, or did he get me hard?
Hah!
But she focuses on him as he opens his envelope and she squeals like a little girl at his results. What a clever boy, what a good boy. Big fucking deal.
"C'mon Mal," I say, me, Mal, look at me, "haven't got all day, here."
And of course she notices, and of course she ups the anti and she offers him pizza. Yeah, like he'll go for a pizza – he'd rather go up his aunty.
A coke with his folks, or coke and a fuck.
"Everybody's going out," he says, apologetically, his eyes flicking towards me.
Which one of us is he apologising to, for fuck's sake?
"Everybody who's anybody?" she says. "Alright, enjoy yourself, you'll be moving on soon enough."
Ah, she's graceless in defeat, but he came by his honesty honestly.
"C'mon, the fuck," I mutter, graceless in victory, as he follows me from the room.
Title: Beautiful Plumage
Author:
shocolatePairing: Luke/Malachy pre-slash
Words: 427
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warning : actual SPOILERS for Cherrybomb, with actual dialogue, not just speculation.
For
hpuckle, for bravely meeting HMS Padlock's three BNFs in Belfast… this is your chance to write the definitive Malachy/Michelle, babe - and then we can have shipping wars!Beautiful Plumage
****
Together we thunder up the stairs in his empty house, jostling for space on the narrow landing and I fling myself on his bed. I put on some music and watch him undress. His grotty Titanic tracksuit hits the floor and he's standing in his boxers, pulling shirts out of the cupboard and trying them on for me.
Look at him fluffing his plumage like a tropical bird on the pull.
Bless.
We're gonna have a good time, tonight, I can feel it. That and the bag of blow in my pocket.
He changes his plumage - open collar and loosely knotted tie.
I like it.
I nod.
He smiles at me.
But then his ma bounds into the room, flourishing an envelope - all zero fashion sense and middle aged excitement, until she sees me and her face falls. Her smile slides off her face so fast and so obviously it's almost funny. Her eyes flick past my face and her jaw tightens as she sees the gallery of polaroids on the wall, behind my head.
Fuck, I love those polaroids.
She can ban me from the house, but she canna paint over those photos. She can't hold back the tide with Thomas the Tank Engine wallpaper.
As always, she frowns at the close up shot of my open mouth and I bite my lip to stop asking the sixty-four thousand pound question: what did he do after taking that photograph, ma McKinney? He was so close. What would you rather he did? Did he put a pill on my tongue, or did he kiss me?
Did he get me high, or did he get me hard?
Hah!
But she focuses on him as he opens his envelope and she squeals like a little girl at his results. What a clever boy, what a good boy. Big fucking deal.
"C'mon Mal," I say, me, Mal, look at me, "haven't got all day, here."
And of course she notices, and of course she ups the anti and she offers him pizza. Yeah, like he'll go for a pizza – he'd rather go up his aunty.
A coke with his folks, or coke and a fuck.
"Everybody's going out," he says, apologetically, his eyes flicking towards me.
Which one of us is he apologising to, for fuck's sake?
"Everybody who's anybody?" she says. "Alright, enjoy yourself, you'll be moving on soon enough."
Ah, she's graceless in defeat, but he came by his honesty honestly.
"C'mon, the fuck," I mutter, graceless in victory, as he follows me from the room.
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