Prompt #16: Rock and Roll
30 Days in Europe: Day 10
Prompt #16: Rock and Roll
F/K, silliness, mildly implied smut in places.
Day 10
Bruges was pretty, tall brick buildings with high pointy ends (“Gables, Ray,”) reflected in still pools and canals or crowding the narrow cobbled streets. It was a bit too pretty, really, like if you didn’t know it was real you’d think you were in the middle of a film set, or a theme park, at least.
Fraser loved it, naturally. “This is the best example of medieval Flemish architecture anywhere in Europe! Many of the buildings are perfectly preserved, and where restoration has been necessary, it has been carried out very sensitively.”
He couldn’t understand why Ray’s grunt of agreement wasn’t quite as enthusiastic.
“Don’t you like it, Ray?”
“No, it’s not a question of not liking. Just, I dunno, I prefer a town with a bit more attitude, y’know what I mean?”
“Actually, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“It’s just that this place is like, too much picture postcard, not enough rock’n’roll.”
Fraser stared at him for a moment. “If you recall, we added Bruges to our itinerary at the recommendation of Mrs. Van Bergen. As a sixty-three year old librarian, it’s quite possible that rock and roll is not her top priority.”
“Okay, Mr. Snippy, no need to take it personally. I didn’t say I don’t like it, but you’ve got to admit it’s all a bit too pretty.”
“Attractive.”
“Pretty.”
“Charming.”
“Pretty.
“Picturesque.”
“Pretty.”
“Really, Ray, there’s nothing wrong with a town being pretty. Perhaps a few drug dealers or drunken vagrants would improve the view as far as you’re concerned?”
Ray smirked at him but didn’t say a word. No need to gloat just because he’d won the point.
Fraser even thought it was a good idea for the horses pulling the tourist carriages to have stupid vinyl bags strapped under their tails, to stop any shit falling on the precious cobbled streets.
“An ingeniously simple solution to a problem that could, if left unchecked, become a serious public health hazard,” he called it.
Ray called it total humiliation as far as the horses themselves were concerned. “I mean, just look at them!”
“I suppose that means you’re not interested in joining me for a tour of the town in a carriage, then?”
And whoa, that wasn’t just Fraser getting irritated with Ray, that sounded like genuine disappointment.
“Hey, hold up a minute, did I say I wasn’t interested? I am all over the horse-drawn carriage thing. You, me, the horse-drawn carriage, it’s a done deal, goes together like…”
“Love and marriage?” Fraser suggested with an over-dramatic sigh, but he was smiling again, so that was okay.
The carriage ride turned out to be fun, anyway. The driver could have been a cousin of the bus tour guides in London, with enough historical facts to satisfy Fraser and plenty of stories of bloody revolts and unsolved mysteries to amuse Ray. By the time they turned back toward the Market Square they were both relaxed and grinning, which meant it had to be time for Ray to yank Fraser’s chain again.
“Shame it’s not cold enough to pull up the blanket,” he said, nodding at the ratty looking thing bundled up under the opposite seat.
Fraser, not half as innocent as he’d like you to think, eyed him suspiciously. “Why’s that?”
“’Cos then I could be giving you a hand job underneath it, and nobody would even know.”
Fraser tried to look shocked, but what came out was a splutter of laughter. “Really, Ray, that’s, that’s -”
“That’s rock’n’roll,” Ray said, and slid his hand up Fraser’s leg to squeeze his thigh.
And my prompt table...
Prompt #16: Rock and Roll
F/K, silliness, mildly implied smut in places.
Day 10
Bruges was pretty, tall brick buildings with high pointy ends (“Gables, Ray,”) reflected in still pools and canals or crowding the narrow cobbled streets. It was a bit too pretty, really, like if you didn’t know it was real you’d think you were in the middle of a film set, or a theme park, at least.
Fraser loved it, naturally. “This is the best example of medieval Flemish architecture anywhere in Europe! Many of the buildings are perfectly preserved, and where restoration has been necessary, it has been carried out very sensitively.”
He couldn’t understand why Ray’s grunt of agreement wasn’t quite as enthusiastic.
“Don’t you like it, Ray?”
“No, it’s not a question of not liking. Just, I dunno, I prefer a town with a bit more attitude, y’know what I mean?”
“Actually, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“It’s just that this place is like, too much picture postcard, not enough rock’n’roll.”
Fraser stared at him for a moment. “If you recall, we added Bruges to our itinerary at the recommendation of Mrs. Van Bergen. As a sixty-three year old librarian, it’s quite possible that rock and roll is not her top priority.”
“Okay, Mr. Snippy, no need to take it personally. I didn’t say I don’t like it, but you’ve got to admit it’s all a bit too pretty.”
“Attractive.”
“Pretty.”
“Charming.”
“Pretty.
“Picturesque.”
“Pretty.”
“Really, Ray, there’s nothing wrong with a town being pretty. Perhaps a few drug dealers or drunken vagrants would improve the view as far as you’re concerned?”
Ray smirked at him but didn’t say a word. No need to gloat just because he’d won the point.
Fraser even thought it was a good idea for the horses pulling the tourist carriages to have stupid vinyl bags strapped under their tails, to stop any shit falling on the precious cobbled streets.
“An ingeniously simple solution to a problem that could, if left unchecked, become a serious public health hazard,” he called it.
Ray called it total humiliation as far as the horses themselves were concerned. “I mean, just look at them!”
“I suppose that means you’re not interested in joining me for a tour of the town in a carriage, then?”
And whoa, that wasn’t just Fraser getting irritated with Ray, that sounded like genuine disappointment.
“Hey, hold up a minute, did I say I wasn’t interested? I am all over the horse-drawn carriage thing. You, me, the horse-drawn carriage, it’s a done deal, goes together like…”
“Love and marriage?” Fraser suggested with an over-dramatic sigh, but he was smiling again, so that was okay.
The carriage ride turned out to be fun, anyway. The driver could have been a cousin of the bus tour guides in London, with enough historical facts to satisfy Fraser and plenty of stories of bloody revolts and unsolved mysteries to amuse Ray. By the time they turned back toward the Market Square they were both relaxed and grinning, which meant it had to be time for Ray to yank Fraser’s chain again.
“Shame it’s not cold enough to pull up the blanket,” he said, nodding at the ratty looking thing bundled up under the opposite seat.
Fraser, not half as innocent as he’d like you to think, eyed him suspiciously. “Why’s that?”
“’Cos then I could be giving you a hand job underneath it, and nobody would even know.”
Fraser tried to look shocked, but what came out was a splutter of laughter. “Really, Ray, that’s, that’s -”
“That’s rock’n’roll,” Ray said, and slid his hand up Fraser’s leg to squeeze his thigh.
And my prompt table...