A Greater Compliment
Title: A Greater Compliment
Fandom: Powerpuff Girls (GOOD GOD WHAT HAVE Y'ALL DONE TO ME?!)
Genre: fluuuuuff
Rating: PGish
Characters/Pairings:blues
Summary: To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved
Author's Notes: Well, I got nothing. Written in about an hour and a half when I should have been doing... well, something else. Have at it, girls.
When the sunlight streaming in through the curtains finally reaches his face, Boomer comes awake instantly. He blinks a few times to clear the gunk out of his eyes and the fog out of his mind, and then he looks around the room, taking careful stock of his surroundings. It's an old habit, and one he shares with Brick (because Butch isn't awake until he's been walking around for thirty minutes).
Bathroom and hallway doors are both still closed. Closet door's slightly ajar, and there's a scarf hanging on the handle. Sparsely used desk, messy vanity. Light blue walls so covered with sketches and unframed canvases that you can hardly see their color. He's still fully clothed, sans shoes, still lying on top of the covers. He's still got one arm around Bubbles. They're still sharing her pillow, spooned up against each other, his nose buried in the crown of her hair. She's fast asleep under the covers.
But she stirs when he takes his arm back. He sits up, slowly, trying not to wake her, but there's a change in the rhythm of her breathing and he knows she's awake. He freezes.
The silence of the room is broken by the tiny groan she makes as she stretches, lifting her arms above her head, fingers clutching the headboard briefly before she rolls toward him and curls back into a ball in the spot of warmth he's left.
"I thought you were going home when I fell asleep," she says blearily, voice muffled by the blankets that she's pulled up around her ears. Her hair is an absolute mess.
He can't help smiling when he says, "I guess I fell asleep too."
"Wha'times'it" she asks, the words all slurred together.
He glances around the room for the clock and cringes when he sees the numbers. "7:13," he tells her, swinging his legs over the side of her bed.
Bubbles sits up so suddenly the bed creaks and he turns just in time to watch the left strap of her nightgown slip down her shoulder. "You're going now?" she asks, voice small and sleepy.
"Yes?" he says slowly, glancing down at his socked feet briefly.
"But it's early," she protests gently around a yawn. "How am I supposed to go back to sleep if you leave?"
Boomer wants to laugh, but she's right. It's early, and part of him wants to tell her that she's slept without him just fine for almost twelve years, but another part of him - a part he's tried to bury ever since he realized that his wanting to kiss her had less to do with the fact that she was absolutely gorgeous and more to do with the fact that he liked her - is secretly thrilled that she's so eager to keep him close.
So when she pulls back the covers and invites him to curl up with her, he doesn't remind her that her sisters are asleep just down the hall, or that the Professor is probably up and making coffee already. He doesn't even tease her with the fact that his brothers might, eventually, when and if they realize he's gone, come looking for him. He just sighs, and shifts around until he's got his legs situated under the blankets before reaching for her. She curls up against him when they lay down, and she gives his chin a quick little kiss before her head drops onto his shoulder. She's asleep almost before she's settled. Her breath is a tiny puff of warmth against his neck.
Boomer spends a few vague, hazy moments wondering if things are different because they're in her bed, in her house, surrounded by her family. He wonders what's going to happen the first time they wake up in his bed, if she'll stay when he asks her to, if she'll wake up in the same lazy, trusting way, with not a care for her surroundings and absolutely no sense of the danger of the situation. He wonders if she trusts him that much.
And somehow, watching her sleep, he thinks she does.
Fandom: Powerpuff Girls (GOOD GOD WHAT HAVE Y'ALL DONE TO ME?!)
Genre: fluuuuuff
Rating: PGish
Characters/Pairings:blues
Summary: To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved
Author's Notes: Well, I got nothing. Written in about an hour and a half when I should have been doing... well, something else. Have at it, girls.
When the sunlight streaming in through the curtains finally reaches his face, Boomer comes awake instantly. He blinks a few times to clear the gunk out of his eyes and the fog out of his mind, and then he looks around the room, taking careful stock of his surroundings. It's an old habit, and one he shares with Brick (because Butch isn't awake until he's been walking around for thirty minutes).
Bathroom and hallway doors are both still closed. Closet door's slightly ajar, and there's a scarf hanging on the handle. Sparsely used desk, messy vanity. Light blue walls so covered with sketches and unframed canvases that you can hardly see their color. He's still fully clothed, sans shoes, still lying on top of the covers. He's still got one arm around Bubbles. They're still sharing her pillow, spooned up against each other, his nose buried in the crown of her hair. She's fast asleep under the covers.
But she stirs when he takes his arm back. He sits up, slowly, trying not to wake her, but there's a change in the rhythm of her breathing and he knows she's awake. He freezes.
The silence of the room is broken by the tiny groan she makes as she stretches, lifting her arms above her head, fingers clutching the headboard briefly before she rolls toward him and curls back into a ball in the spot of warmth he's left.
"I thought you were going home when I fell asleep," she says blearily, voice muffled by the blankets that she's pulled up around her ears. Her hair is an absolute mess.
He can't help smiling when he says, "I guess I fell asleep too."
"Wha'times'it" she asks, the words all slurred together.
He glances around the room for the clock and cringes when he sees the numbers. "7:13," he tells her, swinging his legs over the side of her bed.
Bubbles sits up so suddenly the bed creaks and he turns just in time to watch the left strap of her nightgown slip down her shoulder. "You're going now?" she asks, voice small and sleepy.
"Yes?" he says slowly, glancing down at his socked feet briefly.
"But it's early," she protests gently around a yawn. "How am I supposed to go back to sleep if you leave?"
Boomer wants to laugh, but she's right. It's early, and part of him wants to tell her that she's slept without him just fine for almost twelve years, but another part of him - a part he's tried to bury ever since he realized that his wanting to kiss her had less to do with the fact that she was absolutely gorgeous and more to do with the fact that he liked her - is secretly thrilled that she's so eager to keep him close.
So when she pulls back the covers and invites him to curl up with her, he doesn't remind her that her sisters are asleep just down the hall, or that the Professor is probably up and making coffee already. He doesn't even tease her with the fact that his brothers might, eventually, when and if they realize he's gone, come looking for him. He just sighs, and shifts around until he's got his legs situated under the blankets before reaching for her. She curls up against him when they lay down, and she gives his chin a quick little kiss before her head drops onto his shoulder. She's asleep almost before she's settled. Her breath is a tiny puff of warmth against his neck.
Boomer spends a few vague, hazy moments wondering if things are different because they're in her bed, in her house, surrounded by her family. He wonders what's going to happen the first time they wake up in his bed, if she'll stay when he asks her to, if she'll wake up in the same lazy, trusting way, with not a care for her surroundings and absolutely no sense of the danger of the situation. He wonders if she trusts him that much.
And somehow, watching her sleep, he thinks she does.