(no subject)
I'm posting in a brief moment of connectivity as my broadband is very, very sick. I'll try to reply to all the great comments to my flash challenge post but apologies in advance and thanks if I don't get a chance to get back to all of you.
Not recommended for vegetarians…
Rating: PG-13
Character: Xander
Author: Bruttimabuoni
A/N: Written for prompt #2, episode 6 ‘The Pack’ at Phantasmagoria.
There’s something about a pork chop these days. Xander’s always been more of a steak man, though honestly this mainly means teen-who-dreams-of-steak-while-eating-pizza. But in his plans for future years-of-rolling-in-dollars-laughing-maniacally, it’s a serious T-bone he’s imagined awaiting him after his daily roll.
Now though, Xander’s getting his kicks hanging round the butcher shop, while trying to avoid Angel on his blood-runs. It’s those pink, perky pork chops that draw his eyes irresistibly. And stimulate some disturbing saliva action.
He hovers by his mother in the kitchen too: “Don‘t let them scorch.” Frankly, he doesn’t consider cooking necessary at all now - nothing like the crunch of raw meat and bone. His Dad, though, takes this new interest in cuisine as yet another sign he’s sired a sissy, and smacks Xander casually across the room to register displeasure.
Little does he know, Xander’s the caveman in this house. Red blooded, red in tooth and claw, red all over Male. He has hunted, he has killed.
Mostly, he knows that murdering a piglet mascot isn’t a great advert for manliness. Sometimes, though, it helps.
Not recommended for vegetarians…
Rating: PG-13
Character: Xander
Author: Bruttimabuoni
A/N: Written for prompt #2, episode 6 ‘The Pack’ at Phantasmagoria.
There’s something about a pork chop these days. Xander’s always been more of a steak man, though honestly this mainly means teen-who-dreams-of-steak-while-eating-pizza. But in his plans for future years-of-rolling-in-dollars-laughing-maniacally, it’s a serious T-bone he’s imagined awaiting him after his daily roll.
Now though, Xander’s getting his kicks hanging round the butcher shop, while trying to avoid Angel on his blood-runs. It’s those pink, perky pork chops that draw his eyes irresistibly. And stimulate some disturbing saliva action.
He hovers by his mother in the kitchen too: “Don‘t let them scorch.” Frankly, he doesn’t consider cooking necessary at all now - nothing like the crunch of raw meat and bone. His Dad, though, takes this new interest in cuisine as yet another sign he’s sired a sissy, and smacks Xander casually across the room to register displeasure.
Little does he know, Xander’s the caveman in this house. Red blooded, red in tooth and claw, red all over Male. He has hunted, he has killed.
Mostly, he knows that murdering a piglet mascot isn’t a great advert for manliness. Sometimes, though, it helps.