Dec 02 - Mistletoe is Dangerous for Werewolves
Fandom: Being Human
Prompt: Werewolves are allergic to mistletoe
George, to the amusement of Annie and Mitchell, had taken to darting quickly between the kitchen and living room and through the front door, only after checkingthat no-one was passing through at the same time.
George, typically, ignored them and pulled his shoulders sharply in a way that should have brought back his dignity but just made them laugh harder.
And so came the quest: steal a kiss from George.
Annie almost got one whithin the day, but George had seen both times and radically changed direction, rather than entering the living roon to reply to Mitchell's calling him he replied through the hole in their wall.
It was Mitchell who finally got one, asking George to pass him the milk and the holding the front of his shirt so he stayed still in front of the sink. Mitchell pointed up and smirked.
"That's not fair!"
Annie flickered into the kitchen.
"This was your idea, wasn't it?" George demanded of her.
"I don't know what you mean." she replied.
Mitchell grabbed (and smooshed) the sides of George’s face and kissed his forehead then his fish lips. The he pushed his face in Annie’s direction.
Annie dutifully planted a graceful kiss on the werewolf, and leant back to see the effect.
The effect was that George’s face was far redder than is should have been from a simple smoosh.
Far redder and blotchy . . .
***
George had not been impressed when Annie's Googling revealed that mistletoe was said to have properties that would kill a werewolf, and he alternated between blaming Mitchell, blaming Tully, blaming Annie, blaming himself and complaining about the itchy rash the mistletoe had left.
He sat on the sofa next to Mitchell for an hour (Mitchell was probably unsuitably happy, but George couldn't quite be certain as Mitchell had semi-perfected the poker face) until, after Annie's third cup of tea and fourth apology, the itching became unbearable. He stood up and scrabbled at the hem of his shirt before pulling it fast over his head and slamming it down on the floor, breathing quickly.
"Well," he breathed, to Annie's incredulous expression, "that's better."
"Thats better?" she asked. Mitchell smirked.
"Yes," George replied with a vague challenge in his tone.
"Everything's better shirtless," Mitchell agreed.
George narrowed his eyes slightly, but his attention was diverted by the concept of his own shirtlessness, and he went to find a sheet to wrap around himself like a blanket.
Annie made George another cup of tea, and five minutes after George returned, Mitchell gave in to the responsibility in the air and fetched a bottle of chamomile, muttering something about hawthorn.
After an hour he had had what Mitchell had termed a hissy fit and Annie had termed 'a turn', and pulled off his shirt and trousers, spending the rest of the Christmas day wearing a sheet he'd put on like a toga.