193. you can be my full-time baby
Title | you can be my full-time baby
Rating | pg-13
Characters | Carter + Serena.
Summary | I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy / I'm tired of driving 'til I see stars in my eyes
Notes | Written for this ficathon.
The world feels smaller by the time Serena’s leaning her elbows on a sticky diner table in Vegas, mascara a little smudged under her eyes. Her feet ache from the spindly heels she’s been wearing for hours; she lifts them out of her shoes and into Carter’s lap, presses the bottoms of them lightly against his stomach.
He smiles at her, hands coming to rest on her ankles. “Tired?”
She shakes her head, tipping it back against the top of the booth, her updo finally surrendering, coming undone, her hair falling messily against her shoulders. “Taking a break.”
Carter’s thumbs knead into the arches of her feet. “It’s been crazy.”
“It’s been good,” she says, looking at him through her lashes; she can’t remember the last time they’ve been this still and that’s how she likes it.
“We could be here,” he says, “for a little while.”
She pokes a toe against his stomach. “Told you, I’m just here for the apple pie.”
He’s got that look in his eyes that means drunk is fading and sleepiness is setting in. “You drag me all over the world to go swimming but you have to come to Nevada for pie.”
“You’ve been everywhere,” she says softly. “Every body of water, who else can say they’ve done that?”
“You,” he points out with a hint of a smirk.
She wonders faintly what’s taking the waitress so long. “Now we can belong anywhere.”
He slides a hand up one of her calves. “I belong with you.”
Serena smiles slowly. “You’re tipsy. You’re tired.”
“Let’s take a break here, beautiful. A few days.”
Her smile shifts into a grin as she accuses him, “You’re old. What’re we going to do here?”
“Gamble away all our money,” he shrugs. “Go dancing; you like dancing.”
She rolls her eyes a little. “We can do that anywhere.”
“We can get married anywhere, too, but it seems a hell of a lot more convenient around here.”
She blinks. “What?”
Carter reaches across the table to touch her chin gently. “You pick the honeymoon,” he says, as if this isn’t a big deal at all. “Anywhere you want.” When she stares at him, he says, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“You’re proposing,” Serena points out.
“And you,” he says, giving her feet a squeeze, “have yet to bolt.” He softens a little, his eyes on her. “It’s not some big thing.”
Her mouth drops open. “Except for the til death do us part bit of the whole deal.”
He smiles. “S’not that long. Live fast, die young, baby.”
“You’re not asking me to live fast,” she says quietly. “You’re asking me to slow down.”
“Barely, beautiful.”
“You’re - ”
“In love with you,” he supplies. “And you’re in love with me too, even if you like to pretend you haven’t noticed.”
She shakes her head, but there’s a smile sneaking onto her lips, totally unbidden. “I - ” She hesitates for a long moment. The waitress sets a piece of pie, piled with whipped cream, between them; two forks. “I don’t have anything to wear,” she murmurs.
Carter’s giving her that look again, and maybe it’s not the influence of rum wearing off, maybe it’s not exhaustion after months of running around the globe - maybe it’s something else.
“I like you best that way,” he says, smiling.
And so they’re married, pulling each other’s clothes off in the restaurant’s grimy bathroom. Signatures meet paper the next morning and she gets her ring a year later, in Istanbul, hidden in a piece of pie.
fin
Rating | pg-13
Characters | Carter + Serena.
Summary | I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy / I'm tired of driving 'til I see stars in my eyes
Notes | Written for this ficathon.
The world feels smaller by the time Serena’s leaning her elbows on a sticky diner table in Vegas, mascara a little smudged under her eyes. Her feet ache from the spindly heels she’s been wearing for hours; she lifts them out of her shoes and into Carter’s lap, presses the bottoms of them lightly against his stomach.
He smiles at her, hands coming to rest on her ankles. “Tired?”
She shakes her head, tipping it back against the top of the booth, her updo finally surrendering, coming undone, her hair falling messily against her shoulders. “Taking a break.”
Carter’s thumbs knead into the arches of her feet. “It’s been crazy.”
“It’s been good,” she says, looking at him through her lashes; she can’t remember the last time they’ve been this still and that’s how she likes it.
“We could be here,” he says, “for a little while.”
She pokes a toe against his stomach. “Told you, I’m just here for the apple pie.”
He’s got that look in his eyes that means drunk is fading and sleepiness is setting in. “You drag me all over the world to go swimming but you have to come to Nevada for pie.”
“You’ve been everywhere,” she says softly. “Every body of water, who else can say they’ve done that?”
“You,” he points out with a hint of a smirk.
She wonders faintly what’s taking the waitress so long. “Now we can belong anywhere.”
He slides a hand up one of her calves. “I belong with you.”
Serena smiles slowly. “You’re tipsy. You’re tired.”
“Let’s take a break here, beautiful. A few days.”
Her smile shifts into a grin as she accuses him, “You’re old. What’re we going to do here?”
“Gamble away all our money,” he shrugs. “Go dancing; you like dancing.”
She rolls her eyes a little. “We can do that anywhere.”
“We can get married anywhere, too, but it seems a hell of a lot more convenient around here.”
She blinks. “What?”
Carter reaches across the table to touch her chin gently. “You pick the honeymoon,” he says, as if this isn’t a big deal at all. “Anywhere you want.” When she stares at him, he says, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“You’re proposing,” Serena points out.
“And you,” he says, giving her feet a squeeze, “have yet to bolt.” He softens a little, his eyes on her. “It’s not some big thing.”
Her mouth drops open. “Except for the til death do us part bit of the whole deal.”
He smiles. “S’not that long. Live fast, die young, baby.”
“You’re not asking me to live fast,” she says quietly. “You’re asking me to slow down.”
“Barely, beautiful.”
“You’re - ”
“In love with you,” he supplies. “And you’re in love with me too, even if you like to pretend you haven’t noticed.”
She shakes her head, but there’s a smile sneaking onto her lips, totally unbidden. “I - ” She hesitates for a long moment. The waitress sets a piece of pie, piled with whipped cream, between them; two forks. “I don’t have anything to wear,” she murmurs.
Carter’s giving her that look again, and maybe it’s not the influence of rum wearing off, maybe it’s not exhaustion after months of running around the globe - maybe it’s something else.
“I like you best that way,” he says, smiling.
And so they’re married, pulling each other’s clothes off in the restaurant’s grimy bathroom. Signatures meet paper the next morning and she gets her ring a year later, in Istanbul, hidden in a piece of pie.
fin