Fic: Heroin Chic (Being Human)
Title: Heroin Chic
Rating: PG
Pairing: none really. Mitchell & Herrick
Disclaimer: They're not mine, they're Toby Whithouse's
Warnings: none
Summary: Just a little snapshot of Mitchell and Herrick. Probably set in the 80s (but it's not important).
A/N: The game that they're playing here, "compelled", is something I read in a book but I can't remember what it was... so if it rings any bells with anyone, let me know!
“Ok, which one of them would you do?” Herrick asks.
Mitchell casts cool appraising eyes over the two young women, taking in unhealthy pallor, bloodshot eyes and unwashed hair.
“Neither, thanks. I’ve never been into heroin chic.”
“But... if you were compelled,” Herrick says with a leering smile. “If I was holding a stake to your heart. Them or you.”
Grudgingly, Mitchell looks again. Neither of the girls looks like there’s much life in them, he thinks. The way they’re huddled over their mugs of tea, it makes him tired just to look at them. He can’t imagine it would be much fun.
“Oh, the shorter one I guess. And then I’d probably have to go on a methadone programme or something.”
Herrick laughs, and Mitchell feels that little flare of pride that he always gets when Herrick looks at him like that, even after all these years. Herrick’s eyes on Mitchell are all possession and gladness; they say mine, all mine and Mitchell basks happily in the glow.
Then Herrick sits up straight and downs the last of his coffee, reaching for his coat with his other hand.
“Come on then young Mitchell, let’s go and find something more to your taste, shall we?”
And they’re out the door and into the street, the night ahead of them alive with possibility. Mitchell feels hard and sharp and lethal, honed to a point. He looks over to Herrick and sees his own grin reflected on the other man’s face. He’s never felt less alone.
Rating: PG
Pairing: none really. Mitchell & Herrick
Disclaimer: They're not mine, they're Toby Whithouse's
Warnings: none
Summary: Just a little snapshot of Mitchell and Herrick. Probably set in the 80s (but it's not important).
A/N: The game that they're playing here, "compelled", is something I read in a book but I can't remember what it was... so if it rings any bells with anyone, let me know!
“Ok, which one of them would you do?” Herrick asks.
Mitchell casts cool appraising eyes over the two young women, taking in unhealthy pallor, bloodshot eyes and unwashed hair.
“Neither, thanks. I’ve never been into heroin chic.”
“But... if you were compelled,” Herrick says with a leering smile. “If I was holding a stake to your heart. Them or you.”
Grudgingly, Mitchell looks again. Neither of the girls looks like there’s much life in them, he thinks. The way they’re huddled over their mugs of tea, it makes him tired just to look at them. He can’t imagine it would be much fun.
“Oh, the shorter one I guess. And then I’d probably have to go on a methadone programme or something.”
Herrick laughs, and Mitchell feels that little flare of pride that he always gets when Herrick looks at him like that, even after all these years. Herrick’s eyes on Mitchell are all possession and gladness; they say mine, all mine and Mitchell basks happily in the glow.
Then Herrick sits up straight and downs the last of his coffee, reaching for his coat with his other hand.
“Come on then young Mitchell, let’s go and find something more to your taste, shall we?”
And they’re out the door and into the street, the night ahead of them alive with possibility. Mitchell feels hard and sharp and lethal, honed to a point. He looks over to Herrick and sees his own grin reflected on the other man’s face. He’s never felt less alone.