Huh.
Going through some old files, I found a gen shower fic from the FIRST round of gen shower fics. Somehow it was never posted. :/
Anyway,
happydork, here is Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect in the shower together. Sorry about the wait, I guess?
Arthur lay on his back and concentrated on hurting. He was getting quite good at it, he thought. His head had stopped pounding, having reached the state where a constant buzzing roar of angry neurons travelled down his spinal cord and stabbed at his nerve endings with very sharp, very tiny knives. His muscles seemed to be wrapped individually with sandpaper, and he could trace their exact shape in his mind from where they rubbed together, although doing so made his mind declare war with his eyeballs, which in turn stretched against his eyelids in an attempt to escape. One of his internal organs had, from all available evidence, crawled up onto his tongue and died there, several weeks ago. “Nnnnughh.”
It was also, Arthur noted, raining. Lava, possibly, although possibly it just *felt* like lava where the liquid hit his exposed nerve endings. “Nnunng.” It soaked into his clothes, making them even more heavy than they already were, pinning him in place. Arthur wondered if something was wrong with the gravity. He tried moving a finger, and then tried very hard not to move anything else. “Uunghhn.”
There was a splashing beside his ear, as something heavy moved around, narrowly missing his head. “Nnnmmh.” Arthur wondered what the odds were that it would topple over, crushing his skull and helping his brains in their endevour to escape, since there didn’t seem to be enough room in his head for them. He wondered if there were anything he could do to increase those odds. “Nnnuuuhhhn!”
Arthur’s thoughts stopped, lost their balance, and tripped over each other. His moaning was increasingly satisfied sounding, almost content. It was now hovering on the edge of a purr. Arthur’s throat muscles moved at once to silence the traitor among them, but since the identity of that traitor was as yet unknown they accomplished nothing beyond worrying Arthur he might choke. Lava, possibly, ran up his nose.
The purring continued. On further observation, it seemed to be coming from somewhere outside his body. Arthur remembered, slowly, that there was a universe there.
He reluctantly opened his eyes. "AAAAAAHHH!" He shut them again.
"Hey, not bad!" said a voice that didn't belong to him. Arthur could tell, because it was producing recognizable words. "You've only been out two days. At this rate, you'll be able to drink a whole radish* shake before your hundred and twenty seventh birthday!"
Arthur tried to indicate, by means of lying very, very still and not making any noise, that he would be extraordinarily grateful forever - or at least for the next few minutes - if Ford would shut off the lights and the water and the talking or, in the least case, move to the other side of the shower.
Ford, for impenetrable reasons of his own, and despite claiming on many occasions to be Arthur's best** friend, chose to ignore this perfectly reasonable request. Instead he began to produce a screeching, growling, thundering sound. It took Arthur's ears, brain, and Babel fish ten minutes in committee to recognize it as ABBA's "Take A Chance On Me."
*not, most likely, the sort of radish you're thinking of.
**surviving
--------
Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are
comments.
Anyway,
happydork, here is Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect in the shower together. Sorry about the wait, I guess?
Arthur lay on his back and concentrated on hurting. He was getting quite good at it, he thought. His head had stopped pounding, having reached the state where a constant buzzing roar of angry neurons travelled down his spinal cord and stabbed at his nerve endings with very sharp, very tiny knives. His muscles seemed to be wrapped individually with sandpaper, and he could trace their exact shape in his mind from where they rubbed together, although doing so made his mind declare war with his eyeballs, which in turn stretched against his eyelids in an attempt to escape. One of his internal organs had, from all available evidence, crawled up onto his tongue and died there, several weeks ago. “Nnnnughh.”
It was also, Arthur noted, raining. Lava, possibly, although possibly it just *felt* like lava where the liquid hit his exposed nerve endings. “Nnunng.” It soaked into his clothes, making them even more heavy than they already were, pinning him in place. Arthur wondered if something was wrong with the gravity. He tried moving a finger, and then tried very hard not to move anything else. “Uunghhn.”
There was a splashing beside his ear, as something heavy moved around, narrowly missing his head. “Nnnmmh.” Arthur wondered what the odds were that it would topple over, crushing his skull and helping his brains in their endevour to escape, since there didn’t seem to be enough room in his head for them. He wondered if there were anything he could do to increase those odds. “Nnnuuuhhhn!”
Arthur’s thoughts stopped, lost their balance, and tripped over each other. His moaning was increasingly satisfied sounding, almost content. It was now hovering on the edge of a purr. Arthur’s throat muscles moved at once to silence the traitor among them, but since the identity of that traitor was as yet unknown they accomplished nothing beyond worrying Arthur he might choke. Lava, possibly, ran up his nose.
The purring continued. On further observation, it seemed to be coming from somewhere outside his body. Arthur remembered, slowly, that there was a universe there.
He reluctantly opened his eyes. "AAAAAAHHH!" He shut them again.
"Hey, not bad!" said a voice that didn't belong to him. Arthur could tell, because it was producing recognizable words. "You've only been out two days. At this rate, you'll be able to drink a whole radish* shake before your hundred and twenty seventh birthday!"
Arthur tried to indicate, by means of lying very, very still and not making any noise, that he would be extraordinarily grateful forever - or at least for the next few minutes - if Ford would shut off the lights and the water and the talking or, in the least case, move to the other side of the shower.
Ford, for impenetrable reasons of his own, and despite claiming on many occasions to be Arthur's best** friend, chose to ignore this perfectly reasonable request. Instead he began to produce a screeching, growling, thundering sound. It took Arthur's ears, brain, and Babel fish ten minutes in committee to recognize it as ABBA's "Take A Chance On Me."
*not, most likely, the sort of radish you're thinking of.
**surviving
--------
Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are
comments.