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storypaint) wrote2010-10-19 09:04 am
storypaint) wrote2010-10-19 09:04 am
[Dead Like Me] like smoke (George/Mason)
Title: like smoke
Fandom: Dead Like Me
Length: 623 words
Prompt: doomed ship comment ficathon: Dead Like Me, George/Mason, like the burning end of a midnight cigarette
Pairing: slight George/Mason
Other: n/a
Excerpt: When George gets home from yet another in a succession of shitty days, Mason is on her balcony. She's known Mason long enough not to ask or be surprised, so she slips off her shoes and joins him.
When George gets home from yet another in a succession of shitty days, Mason is on her balcony. She's known Mason long enough not to ask or be surprised, so she slips off her shoes and joins him. She makes sure to roll her eyes for his benefit, though.
(She knows he'll ignore that, and sure enough, he hardly spends the time to look wounded.)
You're not supposed to smoke in her building, which is probably something he never bothered to consider. George sighs and puts her hand out.
"Didn't know you indulged," he said, lifting an eyebrow. She shifts her weight to one hip and rolls her eyes again.
"What, think it's going to kill me?"
"Good point," he answers, lifting his eyebrows and fishing another rumpled cigarette from the packet in his pocket. He lets her stand there for a long moment before he grins.
"Need a light, love?" he asks, mocking. "'Fraid I lost my lighter."
He points down into the darkness under the balcony and George is about to sigh again and start shouting about how her life is so shitty she can't even enjoy a cancer stick, but he leans forward instead, closer, almost as if he is going to kiss her. Instead, he lights her cigarette from the embers of his own. The silence grows as he does, and she finds herself staring at him in a way that she isn't sure she likes.
And then he leans back against the rail and exhales smoke that the wind whips into her face. She inhales angrily and her lungs burn. She never really smokes enough to make it worth it, but it's something to do with her hands, anyway.
"How do you do it, Mason?" George asks. Below them a car alarm starts going off, a neighbor's dog barks furiously, and the city continues to live in its irritable way. She flicks ash off the balcony and entertains a fantasy of it burning the dog and making it think twice about barking so loud. Of course, the dog just barks louder. Another car alarm joins in.
"How do I do what?" he asks. She narrows her eyes at him. He throws his arms wide and then shrugs.
"I just am, is all. The drugs help," he answers. "The girls, when I can get them. I'm happy enough."
"Happy enough to break into my apartment and share a cigarette?"
"Drugs," Mason says, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and counting off on his hands. "Challenge - not much, actually, you could do with a better lock. And a girl. What'd I say?"
"You're an idiot," George states firmly. She gives up on her own cigarette and stubs it on the balcony railing. It's not as if she'll get the deposit back now that Mason's been here. Sure, he's on the balcony now, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been through her drawers and made a mess of her bathroom.
"I am a genius," he says with almost comical conviction. She pauses in the doorway.
"Can I come in?" he asks, managing to sound quite pathetic for someone who had just been declaring a moment before that he was a happy man.
"You were in!" she answers.
"But now I'd like permission."
She looks over her shoulder. The pathetic face is all sham but she nods. He seems mostly sober, and he'll keep her mind off work and reaping, despite being a barrier to one and integral to her life in the other.
"I'll show you what I meant about girls," he says cheerfully, pushing past her into the slightly warm apartment.
"Not sure I'm ready to pick up lesbianism," George answers dryly, but she knows what he meant. She follows.
Fandom: Dead Like Me
Length: 623 words
Prompt: doomed ship comment ficathon: Dead Like Me, George/Mason, like the burning end of a midnight cigarette
Pairing: slight George/Mason
Other: n/a
Excerpt: When George gets home from yet another in a succession of shitty days, Mason is on her balcony. She's known Mason long enough not to ask or be surprised, so she slips off her shoes and joins him.
When George gets home from yet another in a succession of shitty days, Mason is on her balcony. She's known Mason long enough not to ask or be surprised, so she slips off her shoes and joins him. She makes sure to roll her eyes for his benefit, though.
(She knows he'll ignore that, and sure enough, he hardly spends the time to look wounded.)
You're not supposed to smoke in her building, which is probably something he never bothered to consider. George sighs and puts her hand out.
"Didn't know you indulged," he said, lifting an eyebrow. She shifts her weight to one hip and rolls her eyes again.
"What, think it's going to kill me?"
"Good point," he answers, lifting his eyebrows and fishing another rumpled cigarette from the packet in his pocket. He lets her stand there for a long moment before he grins.
"Need a light, love?" he asks, mocking. "'Fraid I lost my lighter."
He points down into the darkness under the balcony and George is about to sigh again and start shouting about how her life is so shitty she can't even enjoy a cancer stick, but he leans forward instead, closer, almost as if he is going to kiss her. Instead, he lights her cigarette from the embers of his own. The silence grows as he does, and she finds herself staring at him in a way that she isn't sure she likes.
And then he leans back against the rail and exhales smoke that the wind whips into her face. She inhales angrily and her lungs burn. She never really smokes enough to make it worth it, but it's something to do with her hands, anyway.
"How do you do it, Mason?" George asks. Below them a car alarm starts going off, a neighbor's dog barks furiously, and the city continues to live in its irritable way. She flicks ash off the balcony and entertains a fantasy of it burning the dog and making it think twice about barking so loud. Of course, the dog just barks louder. Another car alarm joins in.
"How do I do what?" he asks. She narrows her eyes at him. He throws his arms wide and then shrugs.
"I just am, is all. The drugs help," he answers. "The girls, when I can get them. I'm happy enough."
"Happy enough to break into my apartment and share a cigarette?"
"Drugs," Mason says, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and counting off on his hands. "Challenge - not much, actually, you could do with a better lock. And a girl. What'd I say?"
"You're an idiot," George states firmly. She gives up on her own cigarette and stubs it on the balcony railing. It's not as if she'll get the deposit back now that Mason's been here. Sure, he's on the balcony now, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been through her drawers and made a mess of her bathroom.
"I am a genius," he says with almost comical conviction. She pauses in the doorway.
"Can I come in?" he asks, managing to sound quite pathetic for someone who had just been declaring a moment before that he was a happy man.
"You were in!" she answers.
"But now I'd like permission."
She looks over her shoulder. The pathetic face is all sham but she nods. He seems mostly sober, and he'll keep her mind off work and reaping, despite being a barrier to one and integral to her life in the other.
"I'll show you what I meant about girls," he says cheerfully, pushing past her into the slightly warm apartment.
"Not sure I'm ready to pick up lesbianism," George answers dryly, but she knows what he meant. She follows.