Prompt #965 (prompt_of_day) - This isn't my bed...
Name: This Isn't My Bed
Fandom: None; original
Series: My Best Friend's Heart
Pairing: Becky/Jenny
Rating: K+; mention of alcohol abuse (ooh, scandalous :D)
Word Count: 914
Summary: Introducing Becky and Jenny; Becky is an It girl on the London scene, and Jenny is a budding singer/songwriter who has become her unlikely best friend - unlikely not only because she's an introvert and Becky's the opposite, but because she is, to the horror of Becky's other friends, openly gay.
Sometimes Becky got so tired she just had to crash, and the previous night had been, needless to say, one of those nights. It had been a birthday party of some description, or so she recalled, and it had involved a lot of alcohol, a lot of dancing and a lot of air kissing. Lots of cheek-kissing, actually; she lifted a hand to her cheek and could feel the grubby stickiness of somebody's lipstick from yesterday; goodness only knew whose. Her eyes opened and she caught sight of the pink against the plain white of the pillow, rubbing her fingertips against it to get the traces she'd just touched away from them. It was only once she'd done it that she noticed the amused face peering sideways at her, framed by messy blonde hair. It was a face she vaguely recognised through the achy fuzz; in fact, she recognised it very well, especially when it spoke.
"Finally stopped making a mess of my sheets, have you?"
"This isn't my bed..."
"Quite right. It's mine. I think you've lost your door-key, you know."
"Is there water?"
"Somewhere. Would you like some?"
"Stop talking so loudly."
"Sorry." She wasn't, but Becky was in no fit state to notice. She did notice when Jenny got out of the bed, however - and in fact, this was the moment she noticed that Jenny had ever been in the bed at all. "One glass of water, madam."
"I'm very hungover."
"I know you are."
"I'm very vile; I can tell."
"No, just a bit... gunky. You just need to take your make-up off. And Sarah's make-up. And wash your hair."
Becky turned over to face the ceiling, and it spun more than it should have. "Alright, alright; I get it." She sipped at the water and eventually managed to sit up, wiping her forehead with a clammy hand and feeling utterly miserable. Apparently this was more obvious than she thought it was, because Jenny sidled up besides her and touched at her forehead with the back of her hand. "Do I have a fever?"
"I just think you're a bit too warm. You did sleep in all your clothes, including your jacket... here, take it off, and I'll go and get a wet flannel, alright?"
"Yes. Help me get my arm out, please."
Eventually she found herself propped up against the headboard with a pillow, still sipping at the glass of water with a fresh face and a forehead being tended to gently by her ever-patient best friend, and even if she didn't feel much better she pretended to so as not to let poor Jenny down. "Much better."
"Oh? Good." She smiled warmly, and turned her head towards the noise coming from Becky's bag - a bag which she had somehow not misplaced during her evening of drunken dancing. "Your phone's going off, you know."
"Answer it for me."
Normally Jenny would have questioned whether it was very polite to pose this as an order rather than a question, but this was Becky, and there was a very definite soft spot in Jenny's already toffee-textured heart for her daft best friend. She reached down and picked up the bag, which was very expensive, but just as tired as any bag that had been trodden on and had drinks tipped all over it would now, and tried to open the clasp without getting her hands too sticky; it was covered in what she supposed must be lager. "Hello? No, this is Jenny. Yes, good morning." She stiffened after the next comment, whatever it was, and seemed a little bristly when she continued. "No, of course not... I wonder how you are this morning-after? Sore? Oh, how very lucky." She didn't make any effort to sound sincere. "Tender. She'll be fine after breakfast. Well, I'm not sure about that."
Becky distinctly heard the phrase 'Oh, come on, don't be selfish' in a tone that missed the mark of being jokey and warm by a long shot, even if it was clear that was where it was aiming.
"Well, I'll ask her, but I don't think so. Becky, Abigail wants to know if you'd like to go shopping today."
"In this state?"
"Well, that's what I said." She tipped her attention back to the phone. "Yes, she's a bit too tender for that, she says. No, I was paraphrasing. What she actually said was 'In this state?'. Yes, very much so. Alright; I will. Yes. Okay, I'll tell her. I'll talk to you later, Abigail. Bye bye."
"I think it's fair to say my friends don't like you," Becky mused dizzily, beating Jenny to it, "but I don't really know why."
"I do," protested Jenny, "but it doesn't matter. Let me get you some breakfast, alright? You'll feel better. Eggs are good for hangovers."
"You cook?"
"Of course. We're not all rich girls." Naturally the bitterness was gone from her tone now; instead, she delivered this line with a pretty smile, prettier because she wasn't aware of it. "Won't be long. The water is in a pitcher there; shout if you need anything. You know where the bathroom is."
"Thank you, Jenny."
Her sincerity is beautiful even if she's decidedly ruffled at the moment and looks, from the paleness of her skin, like she's definitely about to be sick. "It's quite alright. What are best friends for?"
"Letting you sleep in their beds... and bringing you something to vomit into, pronto."
Fandom: None; original
Series: My Best Friend's Heart
Pairing: Becky/Jenny
Rating: K+; mention of alcohol abuse (ooh, scandalous :D)
Word Count: 914
Summary: Introducing Becky and Jenny; Becky is an It girl on the London scene, and Jenny is a budding singer/songwriter who has become her unlikely best friend - unlikely not only because she's an introvert and Becky's the opposite, but because she is, to the horror of Becky's other friends, openly gay.
Sometimes Becky got so tired she just had to crash, and the previous night had been, needless to say, one of those nights. It had been a birthday party of some description, or so she recalled, and it had involved a lot of alcohol, a lot of dancing and a lot of air kissing. Lots of cheek-kissing, actually; she lifted a hand to her cheek and could feel the grubby stickiness of somebody's lipstick from yesterday; goodness only knew whose. Her eyes opened and she caught sight of the pink against the plain white of the pillow, rubbing her fingertips against it to get the traces she'd just touched away from them. It was only once she'd done it that she noticed the amused face peering sideways at her, framed by messy blonde hair. It was a face she vaguely recognised through the achy fuzz; in fact, she recognised it very well, especially when it spoke.
"Finally stopped making a mess of my sheets, have you?"
"This isn't my bed..."
"Quite right. It's mine. I think you've lost your door-key, you know."
"Is there water?"
"Somewhere. Would you like some?"
"Stop talking so loudly."
"Sorry." She wasn't, but Becky was in no fit state to notice. She did notice when Jenny got out of the bed, however - and in fact, this was the moment she noticed that Jenny had ever been in the bed at all. "One glass of water, madam."
"I'm very hungover."
"I know you are."
"I'm very vile; I can tell."
"No, just a bit... gunky. You just need to take your make-up off. And Sarah's make-up. And wash your hair."
Becky turned over to face the ceiling, and it spun more than it should have. "Alright, alright; I get it." She sipped at the water and eventually managed to sit up, wiping her forehead with a clammy hand and feeling utterly miserable. Apparently this was more obvious than she thought it was, because Jenny sidled up besides her and touched at her forehead with the back of her hand. "Do I have a fever?"
"I just think you're a bit too warm. You did sleep in all your clothes, including your jacket... here, take it off, and I'll go and get a wet flannel, alright?"
"Yes. Help me get my arm out, please."
Eventually she found herself propped up against the headboard with a pillow, still sipping at the glass of water with a fresh face and a forehead being tended to gently by her ever-patient best friend, and even if she didn't feel much better she pretended to so as not to let poor Jenny down. "Much better."
"Oh? Good." She smiled warmly, and turned her head towards the noise coming from Becky's bag - a bag which she had somehow not misplaced during her evening of drunken dancing. "Your phone's going off, you know."
"Answer it for me."
Normally Jenny would have questioned whether it was very polite to pose this as an order rather than a question, but this was Becky, and there was a very definite soft spot in Jenny's already toffee-textured heart for her daft best friend. She reached down and picked up the bag, which was very expensive, but just as tired as any bag that had been trodden on and had drinks tipped all over it would now, and tried to open the clasp without getting her hands too sticky; it was covered in what she supposed must be lager. "Hello? No, this is Jenny. Yes, good morning." She stiffened after the next comment, whatever it was, and seemed a little bristly when she continued. "No, of course not... I wonder how you are this morning-after? Sore? Oh, how very lucky." She didn't make any effort to sound sincere. "Tender. She'll be fine after breakfast. Well, I'm not sure about that."
Becky distinctly heard the phrase 'Oh, come on, don't be selfish' in a tone that missed the mark of being jokey and warm by a long shot, even if it was clear that was where it was aiming.
"Well, I'll ask her, but I don't think so. Becky, Abigail wants to know if you'd like to go shopping today."
"In this state?"
"Well, that's what I said." She tipped her attention back to the phone. "Yes, she's a bit too tender for that, she says. No, I was paraphrasing. What she actually said was 'In this state?'. Yes, very much so. Alright; I will. Yes. Okay, I'll tell her. I'll talk to you later, Abigail. Bye bye."
"I think it's fair to say my friends don't like you," Becky mused dizzily, beating Jenny to it, "but I don't really know why."
"I do," protested Jenny, "but it doesn't matter. Let me get you some breakfast, alright? You'll feel better. Eggs are good for hangovers."
"You cook?"
"Of course. We're not all rich girls." Naturally the bitterness was gone from her tone now; instead, she delivered this line with a pretty smile, prettier because she wasn't aware of it. "Won't be long. The water is in a pitcher there; shout if you need anything. You know where the bathroom is."
"Thank you, Jenny."
Her sincerity is beautiful even if she's decidedly ruffled at the moment and looks, from the paleness of her skin, like she's definitely about to be sick. "It's quite alright. What are best friends for?"
"Letting you sleep in their beds... and bringing you something to vomit into, pronto."