Some Idiots Forgot To Wear Pants
Title: Some Idiots Forgot To Wear Pants
Fandom/Series: Some Idiots
Characters: Walt Holiday, Philip Watson
Pairing: Implied Phil/Walt.
Summary: Prequel to Have All The Luck. Walt chills out at Phil's place for a hockey game and home-made pasta.
Challenge/Theme: Timed writing exercise on October 14th, 2010 for the prompt "unbreakable" using Dr.Wicked's Write-or-Die to get a feel for this year's NaNoWriMo premise. 15 minutes, with some after-10 editing.
Length: 593 words.
Genre: Humor.
Rating:PG-13.
Status: Complete.
Warning: Implied slash, underdeveloped characters, and lots of cursing.
Notes: Might change the title later on. Nothing much to write here except that I'm enjoying writing for Phil. Trying to get a feel for him and young!Walt.
--
A song once, Walt Holiday recalled, started off with the words “Don’t bring me down.” Actually, those weren’t the starting words. That was the chorus, but Walter couldn’t be faulted. Usually people know the chorus more often than the actual song...
So it goes.
He was singing - that fool, Walt was. He was singing to himself while sitting on his best friend’s sofa, watching the hockey game and cleaning the dismantled AK-47 he had strewn about his lap and the plaid cushions.
“Don’t bring me, hurrussh,” he sang, “Don’t bring meee dooooown.”
“Who sings that, Walt?” Philip banged around some pots and pans as he prepped his kitchen for dinner.
“Electric disco buggalo or something.”
“I like their singing better.”
Walt didn’t reply to that. He kept cleaning his gun.
“You can keep singing if you want to,” Phil said, just as his noodles started boiling.
Walt hummed a few bars of the same song he’d sang earlier.
“You’re being defiant, aren’t you?”
Walt continued humming, steadily getting louder.
There was an audible sigh. “All right, fine.” He added seasonings to his sauce, stirring it before letting it simmer. “Sing,” he said. “Pansy.”
“Don’t bring meee doown~”
Phil shook his head. “Disgrace.”
The buzzer on his game went off.
“Red Wings are up,” Walt said, glancing briefly at the screen before reassembling his AK-47. “You're supposed to be cheering.”
Phil had a contemplative look about him. His eyes were clouded and his frown was deeper than usual, his wrinkles more prominent. “Yay,” he said.
“That’s not celebrating,” said Walt. “That’s patronizing. Are seriously patronizing your home team? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Walt pulled himself away from the sofa and television, and appeared in the kitchen next to Phil. “You’re not okay.”
Phil stirred his pasta.
“You’re definitely not okay.”
The sauce bubbled nicely.
“Did I say something? Are the Red Wings pissin' you off?” Walt babbled. “Did I piss you off?” He grabbed himself a Mountain Dew from the refrigerator. “Did you piss yourself off?”
“Nobody’s pissed me off,” Phil said. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar and a dick,” Walt said. “A lying dick.”
“Sticks and stones.”
“They still hurt, you know.”
“The sticks and stones are metaphors, and the last time I checked -”
“No, no, I know they’re metaphors - I’m dumb, but I ain’t stupid - but you can’t honestly lie to me about something not obviously upsetting you when it’s obviously upsetting you.” Walt drank his Dew and wiped his gun-greased fingers on a nearby dish towel.
“You're just a kid.” Phil’s noodles were now boiling. A few more minutes, they’d be ready for straining. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. Just some memories, that’s it.”
“Memories aren’t nothing.” Walt persistently perched himself on the kitchen counter. “Trust me, I know. I’ve got more bad ones than you’ve got pairs of underwear.”
“What do my underwear have to do with how I’m feeling?”
“Remember that thing you said about metaphors? Your underwear and dirty laundry. That’s a metaphor."
“Who taught you English? It’s a figure of speech, and get your ass off my kitchen counter.” Phil stirred his pasta one more time then his sauce, before getting out the colander. “I don’t need your butt prints on my tile.”
“I’m wearing pants this time,” Walt said. “Give me some credit.”
“Off.”
Walt didn’t grumble like his usual self as he hopped off. “Don’t bring me down, Phil.”
“Shut up, Walt,” said Phil, “and help me drain these noodles if you plan on eating any of my spaghetti tonight.”
--