Fic: For You, Dear, Anything
Title: For You, Dear, Anything
Rating: PG-13
Words: 800
Summary: And that is all I'm asking for. Fabulous sex, and potatoes.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: So, guys, crackfoxx is awesome, so much so that today, on her birthday, she wrote me fic (it's Katie/Tony and also it's amazing. You should head over here to read it if you haven't already -- GO NOW, DON'T READ THIS DRIVEL). This is just a small something in return, something I promised I'd never do, but there we go. Happy birthday bb! ♥
Cook's stopped knocking when he goes round to Naomi's now. May as well, cause everyone else does, is what she had said, but really he suspects that it's cause she's just fed up having to get up and answer the door to him several times a day.
Unusually though, this time the house is quiet when he enters. Suspiciously so.
"James Cook!"
He spins round to see Gina leaning against the kitchen door frame, pointing a half empty bottle of wine towards him. "The one and only," he replies, and watches as Gina sways slightly on her feet, clinging to the door to keep herself upright. Cook checks his watch. It's before 12.
"You are just the person I want to see. Follow me."
He goes without question, and then rethinks. This has the potential to get bad and he's not sure he wants to go into it straight laced. "Here," he says, pointing towards the bottle. "Got any more of that?"
"For you, dear, anything."
---
It's men issues from what Cook can gather. Something about beards getting in the way, and shite cars with springs, and Cook doesn't even know what else, but he knows enough from past experiences with his mum that the best thing to do is to sit there quietly. Unless you're asked anything, in which case, no she is not fat, he is definitely a bastard and of course she's in the right. And yes, she is beautiful -- that's an important one to remember.
"Naomi's not back yet," Gina informs him suddenly, as if it's only just occurred to her that he might have come round to see something other than her getting pissed and having a rant about the male side of the species. "From Emily's," she adds, completely unnecessarily, but she winks at him like she's divulging some top secret information.
"Yeah. I figured as much. S'alright, I'll wait."
Gina hums and has another swig of the bottle. "And what exactly are your intentions towards my daughter?"
Cook chokes on a mouthful of his wine, cause he sure as hell wasn't expecting that one. "Eh, well, I intended on boning her. You know, before."
It makes Gina laugh. "Very honest of you. I like that."
"Everyone likes the Cookie Monster, right Gina?"
She smiles and ruffles his hair. "You are a funny one, James."
"Too right," he grins.
"So, tell me. Was it the scowl that did it?"
"Nah," he replies, quick as a flash. "That genetic Campbell charm," he says, nudging her in the side.
She smiles at him fondly. "You know, Cook, if it wasn't going to be Emily, then I'd have liked it to be you."
"Aw stop it, Gina, you'll make me blush."
---
Another bottle of wine each, and the standard of conversation deteriorates rapidly.
"The thing I don't understand is that at the beginning it was all fabulous sex and potatoes. And that is all I'm asking for. Fabulous sex, and potatoes."
Cook snorts. "Potatoes?"
"There's more than one thing I could teach you about potatoes, James," Gina winks.
"Potatoes?" He repeats, just to make sure that they are both talking about the same thing.
"Oh yes. Very sensual vegetables, potatoes are."
Cook laughs. "Don't like vegetables. Boring, things that are good for you," he says, and then has a thought. "I like things that are," he pauses and licks his lips, "bad for me."
Gina giggles, she flat out giggles, and Cook wonders how far he could take this and whether it still counted as him taking advantage of a drunk girl, if the drunk girl in question is a fair bit older than him.
"I've never had a toy boy," Gina announces suddenly. "Well, Naomi's father had a mental age of five, though I'm not sure if that counts. Does that count?"
Cook raises an eyebrow. "Dunno. Would you like one?"
Gina laughs. "Nobody's going to want an old codger like me, dear."
"What? Naw, you're proper, like, cool and funny and that."
Gina looks at him in surprise. "I suspect that might be the wine talking," she says hesitantly.
"No," Cook protests, cause he's being honest, and it's not just the wine. But he doesn't say any more, cause the front door slams shut, and it breaks them out of the moment.
Naomi comes into the living room a moment later, takes in the scene before her, Cook and Gina slumped against each other on the sofa, and several empty (and some not quite empty yet) strewn around the room. "What the fuck?"
Cook greets her with a tilt of his bottle. "All men are bastards," he supplies and takes a swig.
Naomi shrugs, finds a bottle that's not quite polished off, and sits cross-legged on the floor. "I'll drink to that."
Rating: PG-13
Words: 800
Summary: And that is all I'm asking for. Fabulous sex, and potatoes.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: So, guys, crackfoxx is awesome, so much so that today, on her birthday, she wrote me fic (it's Katie/Tony and also it's amazing. You should head over here to read it if you haven't already -- GO NOW, DON'T READ THIS DRIVEL). This is just a small something in return, something I promised I'd never do, but there we go. Happy birthday bb! ♥
Cook's stopped knocking when he goes round to Naomi's now. May as well, cause everyone else does, is what she had said, but really he suspects that it's cause she's just fed up having to get up and answer the door to him several times a day.
Unusually though, this time the house is quiet when he enters. Suspiciously so.
"James Cook!"
He spins round to see Gina leaning against the kitchen door frame, pointing a half empty bottle of wine towards him. "The one and only," he replies, and watches as Gina sways slightly on her feet, clinging to the door to keep herself upright. Cook checks his watch. It's before 12.
"You are just the person I want to see. Follow me."
He goes without question, and then rethinks. This has the potential to get bad and he's not sure he wants to go into it straight laced. "Here," he says, pointing towards the bottle. "Got any more of that?"
"For you, dear, anything."
---
It's men issues from what Cook can gather. Something about beards getting in the way, and shite cars with springs, and Cook doesn't even know what else, but he knows enough from past experiences with his mum that the best thing to do is to sit there quietly. Unless you're asked anything, in which case, no she is not fat, he is definitely a bastard and of course she's in the right. And yes, she is beautiful -- that's an important one to remember.
"Naomi's not back yet," Gina informs him suddenly, as if it's only just occurred to her that he might have come round to see something other than her getting pissed and having a rant about the male side of the species. "From Emily's," she adds, completely unnecessarily, but she winks at him like she's divulging some top secret information.
"Yeah. I figured as much. S'alright, I'll wait."
Gina hums and has another swig of the bottle. "And what exactly are your intentions towards my daughter?"
Cook chokes on a mouthful of his wine, cause he sure as hell wasn't expecting that one. "Eh, well, I intended on boning her. You know, before."
It makes Gina laugh. "Very honest of you. I like that."
"Everyone likes the Cookie Monster, right Gina?"
She smiles and ruffles his hair. "You are a funny one, James."
"Too right," he grins.
"So, tell me. Was it the scowl that did it?"
"Nah," he replies, quick as a flash. "That genetic Campbell charm," he says, nudging her in the side.
She smiles at him fondly. "You know, Cook, if it wasn't going to be Emily, then I'd have liked it to be you."
"Aw stop it, Gina, you'll make me blush."
---
Another bottle of wine each, and the standard of conversation deteriorates rapidly.
"The thing I don't understand is that at the beginning it was all fabulous sex and potatoes. And that is all I'm asking for. Fabulous sex, and potatoes."
Cook snorts. "Potatoes?"
"There's more than one thing I could teach you about potatoes, James," Gina winks.
"Potatoes?" He repeats, just to make sure that they are both talking about the same thing.
"Oh yes. Very sensual vegetables, potatoes are."
Cook laughs. "Don't like vegetables. Boring, things that are good for you," he says, and then has a thought. "I like things that are," he pauses and licks his lips, "bad for me."
Gina giggles, she flat out giggles, and Cook wonders how far he could take this and whether it still counted as him taking advantage of a drunk girl, if the drunk girl in question is a fair bit older than him.
"I've never had a toy boy," Gina announces suddenly. "Well, Naomi's father had a mental age of five, though I'm not sure if that counts. Does that count?"
Cook raises an eyebrow. "Dunno. Would you like one?"
Gina laughs. "Nobody's going to want an old codger like me, dear."
"What? Naw, you're proper, like, cool and funny and that."
Gina looks at him in surprise. "I suspect that might be the wine talking," she says hesitantly.
"No," Cook protests, cause he's being honest, and it's not just the wine. But he doesn't say any more, cause the front door slams shut, and it breaks them out of the moment.
Naomi comes into the living room a moment later, takes in the scene before her, Cook and Gina slumped against each other on the sofa, and several empty (and some not quite empty yet) strewn around the room. "What the fuck?"
Cook greets her with a tilt of his bottle. "All men are bastards," he supplies and takes a swig.
Naomi shrugs, finds a bottle that's not quite polished off, and sits cross-legged on the floor. "I'll drink to that."