Miles and Gord and Rex
Fic for Piig's nanowrimo project from last year. Probably won't make sense if you haven't read that. Slash, if you squint.
"Hey Rex?" Miles lay bareback on the floor below a fly-deathtrap halogen and picked particles of shirt-lint from his bellybutton. He was sunbathing.
"Hey-yo daddy-o," Rex's latest goal in life was to beat Gord at Bugger Your Neighbor. He'd determined that Gord had transcended the typical card-counting and gone into telecardology. He read the cards' minds, he could *smell* the difference, or feel minute fingerprint variations in the edges, or hear their little paper voices. Something! So Rex turned the cards one by one, rolling the thumbed-ragged edges against his lip. If Gord had a trick, he'd learn it too.
Miles squirmed. "Do you believe in--hey, you're gonna get spit all over the cards!"
Rex turned his head, the queen of clubs stuck to his lip. "I am not!" The card waggled, then fluttered to the floor.
"Yes you--oh, nevermind. If you've got anything I bet I've caught it already."
"If *I* have anything I bet you brought it in with you on your filthy human hide, you cockroach."
Miles dug out a particularly gritty flake of lint and lifted it to eye-level for inspection. It was blue. He sniffed it to see if it had that bellybutton smell. "Man, I haven't worn my blue shirt in like three days. Check the size of this one."
A cherry tomato skittered through the doorway. Gord followed it, labcoat over faded jeans over bare feet. It skipped a little over ruts in the floor and came to rest against Miles's bare side.
Miles rolled the lint-flake between the pads of thumb and forefinger. From this angle, his head on the floor, Gord rose like a particularly abstract colossus, his face lost behind his wild hair and the mad gleaming goggles, the g;are-white circles of the extra lenses staring down at Miles, judging him. He tossed the lint away and hastily wiped his fingers on his sternum.
"Hey Grod," Miles said. The tomato was cold, but he didn't want to touch it with his linty fingers. Gord might still *eat* it.
"I made a tomato plant," Gord said vaguely, not opening his mouth much. "Out of Wire?" He kissed his pinched fingers together, both hands, then drew them apart, as if measuring an absurdly long invisible hair.
"I'm going to beat you this time," Rex announced, and shuffled the cards in a noisy cascade. "Are the tomatoes tasty?"
"No," Gord said. "They're made of wire. I cut my mouth." Miles could see it now, strings of gummy, bloody saliva clinging to Gord's teeth.
Miles shied away from the tomato, worming sideways. "Ugh! You brought it here to kill me, didn't you!?"
"No," Gord said, and stooped to retrieve the tomato. His labcoat brushed ticklishly along Miles's ribs, "I came to show you. It contains a minute amount of Type 7. Just a tiny bit. But I can use it, if I collected enough and spun it together?"
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" Rex proclaimed.
"Wrong Princess," Miles said absently.
Gord eyed the tomato, grimaced, swallowed blood. "I think we can eat them, once I get the wire out. Except by then it's just tomato puree."
Miles talked about escaping again, to himself, in his head. He had to get out. The reason he had to get out was, he was going crazy. Crazy things were happening in his head. And anyway, tomato puree may be slather-able, but it wasn't sunblock. Except it was edible, and since they only had one spoon, it made sense, right, for them to eat tomato puree off one another. Maybe Gord's skin would be salty.
Gord turned the tomato, the halogens gleaming on the shiny red surface. "What's that blue thing stuck to it?"
"I'm gonna go talk to the plants!" Miles blurted, and fled. "Very important! Helps them grow!"
"Jeez," Gord said. "Maybe I made him hungry."
Rex clattered the cards on the table to tidy the stack. "Eh, he's always hungry, these days. Deal you in?"
END
"Hey Rex?" Miles lay bareback on the floor below a fly-deathtrap halogen and picked particles of shirt-lint from his bellybutton. He was sunbathing.
"Hey-yo daddy-o," Rex's latest goal in life was to beat Gord at Bugger Your Neighbor. He'd determined that Gord had transcended the typical card-counting and gone into telecardology. He read the cards' minds, he could *smell* the difference, or feel minute fingerprint variations in the edges, or hear their little paper voices. Something! So Rex turned the cards one by one, rolling the thumbed-ragged edges against his lip. If Gord had a trick, he'd learn it too.
Miles squirmed. "Do you believe in--hey, you're gonna get spit all over the cards!"
Rex turned his head, the queen of clubs stuck to his lip. "I am not!" The card waggled, then fluttered to the floor.
"Yes you--oh, nevermind. If you've got anything I bet I've caught it already."
"If *I* have anything I bet you brought it in with you on your filthy human hide, you cockroach."
Miles dug out a particularly gritty flake of lint and lifted it to eye-level for inspection. It was blue. He sniffed it to see if it had that bellybutton smell. "Man, I haven't worn my blue shirt in like three days. Check the size of this one."
A cherry tomato skittered through the doorway. Gord followed it, labcoat over faded jeans over bare feet. It skipped a little over ruts in the floor and came to rest against Miles's bare side.
Miles rolled the lint-flake between the pads of thumb and forefinger. From this angle, his head on the floor, Gord rose like a particularly abstract colossus, his face lost behind his wild hair and the mad gleaming goggles, the g;are-white circles of the extra lenses staring down at Miles, judging him. He tossed the lint away and hastily wiped his fingers on his sternum.
"Hey Grod," Miles said. The tomato was cold, but he didn't want to touch it with his linty fingers. Gord might still *eat* it.
"I made a tomato plant," Gord said vaguely, not opening his mouth much. "Out of Wire?" He kissed his pinched fingers together, both hands, then drew them apart, as if measuring an absurdly long invisible hair.
"I'm going to beat you this time," Rex announced, and shuffled the cards in a noisy cascade. "Are the tomatoes tasty?"
"No," Gord said. "They're made of wire. I cut my mouth." Miles could see it now, strings of gummy, bloody saliva clinging to Gord's teeth.
Miles shied away from the tomato, worming sideways. "Ugh! You brought it here to kill me, didn't you!?"
"No," Gord said, and stooped to retrieve the tomato. His labcoat brushed ticklishly along Miles's ribs, "I came to show you. It contains a minute amount of Type 7. Just a tiny bit. But I can use it, if I collected enough and spun it together?"
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" Rex proclaimed.
"Wrong Princess," Miles said absently.
Gord eyed the tomato, grimaced, swallowed blood. "I think we can eat them, once I get the wire out. Except by then it's just tomato puree."
Miles talked about escaping again, to himself, in his head. He had to get out. The reason he had to get out was, he was going crazy. Crazy things were happening in his head. And anyway, tomato puree may be slather-able, but it wasn't sunblock. Except it was edible, and since they only had one spoon, it made sense, right, for them to eat tomato puree off one another. Maybe Gord's skin would be salty.
Gord turned the tomato, the halogens gleaming on the shiny red surface. "What's that blue thing stuck to it?"
"I'm gonna go talk to the plants!" Miles blurted, and fled. "Very important! Helps them grow!"
"Jeez," Gord said. "Maybe I made him hungry."
Rex clattered the cards on the table to tidy the stack. "Eh, he's always hungry, these days. Deal you in?"
END