Fic: That time there was Candy Floss and everything was beautiful and nothing hurt
Title: That time there was Candy Floss and everything was beautiful and nothing hurt
Author: mustbethursday3
Rating/Warnings: G ...RPF
Word Count: 1168
Characters/Pairings: Bradley/Angel
Prompt(s): 'Scrabble' was the word I was supposed to use...but it um...didn't quite end up anywhere near this.
Summary: Angel's addicted to the sugary stuff. Bradley's addicted to Angel. They're in Paris for lunch (let's not ask too many questions as to why, coz dude this be fluff).
Author's notes: Written for the ever wonderful and patient mydoctortennant, who won our Prompt Table bet some 6 months ago - the prize being RPF...written by yours truly. Which is something I've never done alone (and it's scary), but who can go back on a bet? Hope you like it Jen. This wasn't something I knew I was going to write...I just did it, like my writer's block dissolved for a moment...and when it did I was eating candy floss and that inspired me. WARNING: I MAY BE HIGH ON SUGAR AND THIS COULD VERY WELL BE CRAP.
_____________
She tugs another pink clump of sugary goodness free and parts her lips just wide enough to pull it from the fingers she lets pass into her waiting mouth; the graininess of the sugar crystallising rubs along her tongue as she swishes it around making sure to get every little bit, she then dips her fingers back into her mouth so she can suck any residue off, eyes closed.
Sitting across from her, her companion watches on, his blue eyes widening more with every flick of her tongue and suck of her lip, "You should be illegal."
"What," she asks languidly reaching back the bag, "are you going on about, now?"
"That thing, with the tongue and the moaning," he says, and leans forward as she pops another handful into her mouth, his finger tapping on the glass tabletop of the cafe table between them. "Don't know if you've noticed but we're in public." His arm shoots out and he points across the road, past the hurrying figures around them, "Look a child." he says victoriously. "You should be ashamed."
She laughs, her head tilting to the side, curls swirling around her head as the wind picks up, and licks her top lip, "Mmm…not moaning," she looks at him imploringly, "And please, I've seen you devour chips in a most obscene way."
He grins, then: "So, the truth finally comes out. You've been watching me. You want me, admit it. I'm on posters on your bedroom ceiling and you have a shoebox filled with my hair under your bed-"
"No. I was a helpless bystander," she counters. "And half the room was watching you…"
"Can't help it if I was born with a talented tongue, now can I?"
She snorts, softly, as he leans back, arms crossing over his chest, that blue shirt flatters his eyes a little too well, she thinks, and he knows it. "And where the hell would I get enough of your hair to fill a shoebox?"
"You'd find a way," he assures. "You're resourceful."
She pulls one of her sticky fingers from her mouth slowly, savouring the taste, completely unaware of the effect she's having on him, "Whatever," she says, distracted again by the allure of the bag in her lap.
He sniffs, forgotten again, and pretends to watch a pretty girl walk past. The focus of his attention never shifting. "I'm hearing a deafening silence on having posters on your ceiling of my gorgeous face for when you get lonely-"
She cuts him off with a choked giggle, muffled by the fingers that are in her mouth again, and almost inhales some of the sugar as she breathes in a little too quickly. She has to remove her fingers from her mouth to save them from her teeth.
"Lunch with you is a lesson in sane and insane people diplomacy," she says, finally, when she can breathe again.
"For example?" he asks, his eyes sliding back to hers.
"For example, I have to deny everything you accuse me of, otherwise I'm seen to be confirming it," she says, picking up her glass of water and taking a sip.
"That's not just me," he gestures to the Parisian street around them. "That's just how the world works."
"Maybe your world," she mutters, lifting up the plastic bag in her lap and peering into it, "Two-thirds gone," she says sadly.
"Well, if you will scoff it-"
He freezes, when all of a sudden her eyes lock onto his with the sharp keenness that has been missing from their entire conversation.
"Unless we shaved your chest," she says, her eyes falling downwards, considerately.
"Er…what?" he splutters, surprised. "Let's leave my chest out of this, I'm not allowed to mention yours."
"For the box of hair, you idiot," she replies, pushing a large clump of pink fibers past her full lips. "Otherwise we'd have to shave your head," she mumbles, her tongue darting out to collect the sugar that's dared cling to her lips. Then, her nose wrinkles, eyes falling even lower on his body, "And probably other parts…"
He laughs then, at her face, can't help it, she looks so serious, "You know what you were saying before about one of us being insane?"
"Hmm." She blissfully pushes more candy floss into her mouth, and sucks carefully as her thumb pulls free.
"Well, it's definitely you."
She shakes her head, and scrunches up the - now sadly - empty bag, "My being insane, wouldn't automatically make you the posterboy for sanity, Bradley," Angel argues standing when he does. She turns away to hide a smile when his eyes widen at the use of his name, and pretends to check her phone: One missed call from Colin, and another riddle text from Rupert.
"We said no names," Bradley chastises, and she's forced to quickly pocket it and look up as he pulls her into the bustling street.
"You said no names," she corrects.
"It's better that way."
She sighs, as the breeze picks up again, "I really don't think the French care who we are."
His arm falls around her shoulders, tugging her into him, and they continue to walk somewhat awkwardly. "If it's one thing I've learned in four years of this gig it's that the fangirls are everywhere," he says in a hushed, awed tone, that brushes the shell of her ear, his breath hot.
She just sighs again in response and looks down at the bag crumpled in her hand.
The wistfulness of it makes him smile gently, though he makes sure to hide it when she looks up at him.
"What?"
"What?" he says, back innocently. "I didn't say anything."
"There was a look," she accuses, stopping on the footpath to look up at him. "And you were quiet for like 10 whole seconds."
"Stop the presses - I have to stop and breath occasionally," he deadpans. He reaches over and tweaks her nose, "You know, I've just remembered that I might have something you want back at the hotel, a surprise as it were…"
"Brad-" she stops when he shushes her, but sighs and starts again. "Mr X, man of mystery, it's not even one o'clock. I am not going back the hotel, early, to be talked into another Buffy Marathon-"
"That would be nice, but not what I meant." He takes her hand and pulls her along, back in the direction of the Hotel. "I may be in possession of several more bags of candy floss, is all, that I'd conveniently forgotten until this moment-... but if you reaaally want to get back to the Louvre-"
"More," she breathes, mouth watering as her grip on him tightens reactively. "Bradley, if you're making this up…"
"Would I do that?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm not," he assures. "Not this time."
Picking up her pace, she looks over at him shrewdly, "And what do you get out of it?"
He looks away, but she can still see him smile when he speaks, "Nothing."
_________
Ok, Guess what I'm eating RIGHT NOW :D
Author: mustbethursday3
Rating/Warnings: G ...RPF
Word Count: 1168
Characters/Pairings: Bradley/Angel
Prompt(s): 'Scrabble' was the word I was supposed to use...but it um...didn't quite end up anywhere near this.
Summary: Angel's addicted to the sugary stuff. Bradley's addicted to Angel. They're in Paris for lunch (let's not ask too many questions as to why, coz dude this be fluff).
Author's notes: Written for the ever wonderful and patient mydoctortennant, who won our Prompt Table bet some 6 months ago - the prize being RPF...written by yours truly. Which is something I've never done alone (and it's scary), but who can go back on a bet? Hope you like it Jen. This wasn't something I knew I was going to write...I just did it, like my writer's block dissolved for a moment...and when it did I was eating candy floss and that inspired me. WARNING: I MAY BE HIGH ON SUGAR AND THIS COULD VERY WELL BE CRAP.
_____________
She tugs another pink clump of sugary goodness free and parts her lips just wide enough to pull it from the fingers she lets pass into her waiting mouth; the graininess of the sugar crystallising rubs along her tongue as she swishes it around making sure to get every little bit, she then dips her fingers back into her mouth so she can suck any residue off, eyes closed.
Sitting across from her, her companion watches on, his blue eyes widening more with every flick of her tongue and suck of her lip, "You should be illegal."
"What," she asks languidly reaching back the bag, "are you going on about, now?"
"That thing, with the tongue and the moaning," he says, and leans forward as she pops another handful into her mouth, his finger tapping on the glass tabletop of the cafe table between them. "Don't know if you've noticed but we're in public." His arm shoots out and he points across the road, past the hurrying figures around them, "Look a child." he says victoriously. "You should be ashamed."
She laughs, her head tilting to the side, curls swirling around her head as the wind picks up, and licks her top lip, "Mmm…not moaning," she looks at him imploringly, "And please, I've seen you devour chips in a most obscene way."
He grins, then: "So, the truth finally comes out. You've been watching me. You want me, admit it. I'm on posters on your bedroom ceiling and you have a shoebox filled with my hair under your bed-"
"No. I was a helpless bystander," she counters. "And half the room was watching you…"
"Can't help it if I was born with a talented tongue, now can I?"
She snorts, softly, as he leans back, arms crossing over his chest, that blue shirt flatters his eyes a little too well, she thinks, and he knows it. "And where the hell would I get enough of your hair to fill a shoebox?"
"You'd find a way," he assures. "You're resourceful."
She pulls one of her sticky fingers from her mouth slowly, savouring the taste, completely unaware of the effect she's having on him, "Whatever," she says, distracted again by the allure of the bag in her lap.
He sniffs, forgotten again, and pretends to watch a pretty girl walk past. The focus of his attention never shifting. "I'm hearing a deafening silence on having posters on your ceiling of my gorgeous face for when you get lonely-"
She cuts him off with a choked giggle, muffled by the fingers that are in her mouth again, and almost inhales some of the sugar as she breathes in a little too quickly. She has to remove her fingers from her mouth to save them from her teeth.
"Lunch with you is a lesson in sane and insane people diplomacy," she says, finally, when she can breathe again.
"For example?" he asks, his eyes sliding back to hers.
"For example, I have to deny everything you accuse me of, otherwise I'm seen to be confirming it," she says, picking up her glass of water and taking a sip.
"That's not just me," he gestures to the Parisian street around them. "That's just how the world works."
"Maybe your world," she mutters, lifting up the plastic bag in her lap and peering into it, "Two-thirds gone," she says sadly.
"Well, if you will scoff it-"
He freezes, when all of a sudden her eyes lock onto his with the sharp keenness that has been missing from their entire conversation.
"Unless we shaved your chest," she says, her eyes falling downwards, considerately.
"Er…what?" he splutters, surprised. "Let's leave my chest out of this, I'm not allowed to mention yours."
"For the box of hair, you idiot," she replies, pushing a large clump of pink fibers past her full lips. "Otherwise we'd have to shave your head," she mumbles, her tongue darting out to collect the sugar that's dared cling to her lips. Then, her nose wrinkles, eyes falling even lower on his body, "And probably other parts…"
He laughs then, at her face, can't help it, she looks so serious, "You know what you were saying before about one of us being insane?"
"Hmm." She blissfully pushes more candy floss into her mouth, and sucks carefully as her thumb pulls free.
"Well, it's definitely you."
She shakes her head, and scrunches up the - now sadly - empty bag, "My being insane, wouldn't automatically make you the posterboy for sanity, Bradley," Angel argues standing when he does. She turns away to hide a smile when his eyes widen at the use of his name, and pretends to check her phone: One missed call from Colin, and another riddle text from Rupert.
"We said no names," Bradley chastises, and she's forced to quickly pocket it and look up as he pulls her into the bustling street.
"You said no names," she corrects.
"It's better that way."
She sighs, as the breeze picks up again, "I really don't think the French care who we are."
His arm falls around her shoulders, tugging her into him, and they continue to walk somewhat awkwardly. "If it's one thing I've learned in four years of this gig it's that the fangirls are everywhere," he says in a hushed, awed tone, that brushes the shell of her ear, his breath hot.
She just sighs again in response and looks down at the bag crumpled in her hand.
The wistfulness of it makes him smile gently, though he makes sure to hide it when she looks up at him.
"What?"
"What?" he says, back innocently. "I didn't say anything."
"There was a look," she accuses, stopping on the footpath to look up at him. "And you were quiet for like 10 whole seconds."
"Stop the presses - I have to stop and breath occasionally," he deadpans. He reaches over and tweaks her nose, "You know, I've just remembered that I might have something you want back at the hotel, a surprise as it were…"
"Brad-" she stops when he shushes her, but sighs and starts again. "Mr X, man of mystery, it's not even one o'clock. I am not going back the hotel, early, to be talked into another Buffy Marathon-"
"That would be nice, but not what I meant." He takes her hand and pulls her along, back in the direction of the Hotel. "I may be in possession of several more bags of candy floss, is all, that I'd conveniently forgotten until this moment-... but if you reaaally want to get back to the Louvre-"
"More," she breathes, mouth watering as her grip on him tightens reactively. "Bradley, if you're making this up…"
"Would I do that?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm not," he assures. "Not this time."
Picking up her pace, she looks over at him shrewdly, "And what do you get out of it?"
He looks away, but she can still see him smile when he speaks, "Nothing."
_________
Ok, Guess what I'm eating RIGHT NOW :D