storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-06-24 08:08 am
storypaint) wrote2009-06-24 08:08 am
Flipped (Rube/George)
Title: Flipped
Length: 399 words
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic: Dead Like Me, Rube/George, pancakes, crack!fic
Pairing: Rube/George
Other: Crack!fic. As requested.
Excerpt: "Did you sleep well? Go wake Rosie, would you? She's going to be late," George continues, turning back to the stove and flipping the pancake.
George figures that Rube can cook. He's been existing for long enough that he must have acquired the skills at some point Sure, he's at Der Waffel Haus a lot, but it's home base. It makes sense.
But Rube never figured George as the cooking type. The fridge at her house is stuffed with TV dinners and instant ramen, he thinks. Teenagers. They eat like... teenagers. A lot of junk.
So he is terribly surprised on the day after his last Reap to wake up in George's house, in George's bed, and smell breakfast. He lies there for a moment, blinking and trying to put the pieces back together.
It can't have been his last Reap, he decides finally. If it had been, he'd have gone off into his light after Rosie, after his wife, and he certainly wouldn't be in George Lass's bed...
Naked. With no memory of what he did last night.
He finds his underwear on the floor and puts them on, and then retrieves the rest of his clothing from the scattered mess. Teenagers, he thinks again, without any real irritation. He smooths down the wrinkles in his pants, fastens his belt, and follows the smell.
"Rube, darling," George coos when he enters the kitchen, turning from the stove. She's wearing a frilly apron. She's cooking pancakes. She's letting the bacon burn on the side.
"Huh?" Rube manages eloquently. He feels like he's going to fall over, but he doesn't, somehow, grabbing the doorframe for support anyway.
"Did you sleep well? Go wake Rosie, would you? She's going to be late," George continues, turning back to the stove and flipping the pancake.
"I'd like to wake up now," Rube says to the ceiling. When it doesn't answer, he trudges out of the kitchen toward the other bedroom. It should be Daisy's room, but...
He hesitates, hand on the doorknob, but only for a moment. He turns the knob, opens the door, and--
Wakes up to see his own ceiling. He lies still for a moment to appreciate it.
"I hate that dream," he mutters after a moment, rolling over and getting out of bed, finding his slippers, and shaking his head. "I really hate that one."
The sun is beginning to rise. Rube gets dressed and tries to push the dream from his mind.
Length: 399 words
Prompt:
comment_fic: Dead Like Me, Rube/George, pancakes, crack!ficPairing: Rube/George
Other: Crack!fic. As requested.
Excerpt: "Did you sleep well? Go wake Rosie, would you? She's going to be late," George continues, turning back to the stove and flipping the pancake.
George figures that Rube can cook. He's been existing for long enough that he must have acquired the skills at some point Sure, he's at Der Waffel Haus a lot, but it's home base. It makes sense.
But Rube never figured George as the cooking type. The fridge at her house is stuffed with TV dinners and instant ramen, he thinks. Teenagers. They eat like... teenagers. A lot of junk.
So he is terribly surprised on the day after his last Reap to wake up in George's house, in George's bed, and smell breakfast. He lies there for a moment, blinking and trying to put the pieces back together.
It can't have been his last Reap, he decides finally. If it had been, he'd have gone off into his light after Rosie, after his wife, and he certainly wouldn't be in George Lass's bed...
Naked. With no memory of what he did last night.
He finds his underwear on the floor and puts them on, and then retrieves the rest of his clothing from the scattered mess. Teenagers, he thinks again, without any real irritation. He smooths down the wrinkles in his pants, fastens his belt, and follows the smell.
"Rube, darling," George coos when he enters the kitchen, turning from the stove. She's wearing a frilly apron. She's cooking pancakes. She's letting the bacon burn on the side.
"Huh?" Rube manages eloquently. He feels like he's going to fall over, but he doesn't, somehow, grabbing the doorframe for support anyway.
"Did you sleep well? Go wake Rosie, would you? She's going to be late," George continues, turning back to the stove and flipping the pancake.
"I'd like to wake up now," Rube says to the ceiling. When it doesn't answer, he trudges out of the kitchen toward the other bedroom. It should be Daisy's room, but...
He hesitates, hand on the doorknob, but only for a moment. He turns the knob, opens the door, and--
Wakes up to see his own ceiling. He lies still for a moment to appreciate it.
"I hate that dream," he mutters after a moment, rolling over and getting out of bed, finding his slippers, and shaking his head. "I really hate that one."
The sun is beginning to rise. Rube gets dressed and tries to push the dream from his mind.