Weiss and Sark Hang Out and Go To The Zoo
Oh, hi there internet! I... I don't know where I've been! It's almost like there was a fugue state, but I sort of remember not forgetting anything. I made a fic though! I'm tremendously sorry. D:
Title: Weiss and Sark Hang Out and Go To The Zoo
Fandom: Alias
Rating/Warnings: PG + a couple of swears. Oh god, do NOT read this. D:
Characters/Pairings: Weiss/Sark
Word Count: 1,470
Disclaimer: I disclaim it!
Summary: It's a sequel to Weiss and Sark Hang Out and Make Cake. D:
Weiss stepped out of bed, feet finding worn slippers automatically and a yawn stretching his arms above his head. His yawn grew into a satisfied groan and Weiss realized that he felt good. Today was going to be awesome, he decided.
Slowly his mind began to catch up with the fact that it was, indeed, daytime, and that there were definitely thoughts it should be thinking. Weiss remembered then that Sark had come over the night before. Sark-the Sark, as in Mister, was in his apartment and they’d made one hell of a delicious cake.
Weiss decided that he was going to have cake for breakfast-the perfect way to kick of this awesome, good feeling day. Then he wondered if Sark was still on his couch. The little woobles had gotten so sated with cake that he had yawned all sleepily and fallen asleep right in Weiss’ living room. Eric had carefully unlaced and removed the snoogley, little terrorist’s shoes, and covered him with a down blanket. He smiled at the memory of how adorable he had looked.
Weiss stood and wrapped his bathrobe around himself. It was a Saturday, and unless the CIA called him with an urgent mission, he had the day off.
Stepping into the warm light of his living room Weiss saw sunbeams shining through the slats of the curtains to dance upon the blond, sleep-mussed hair of an adorable international criminal. The shadows it cast upon his face were mesmerizing.
“Mmmsph,” Sark groaned, blinking his eyes. “Where’m I? S’it morning?”
“G’morning Jules,” Weiss grinned, turning into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “You want some cake for breakfast? I’m gonna have more cake.”
Sark frowned, which made Weiss pause. Was something wrong?
“I stayed here the whole night?” wondered Sark’s British accent.
“The cake made you sleepy.”
“And… and… I slept here? Where are my shoes? They’re very expensive.”
“I put them near the door,” Weiss confessed. “Then I got you a blanket.”
Sark rubbed a thumb over the throw that covered his lap. “It’s very soft,” he observed. “How much cake is left?”
“Enough for us to have a delicious breakfast,” Weiss beamed. “Then we get to decide what to do today!”
* * * *
Weiss wanted to go bowling, and then maybe head to the grocery store to pick up more ingredients for desserts he could make. It would be lovely if Sark would decide to continue by his side for bowling, he thought. There was no point in going alone.
“I don’t fancy bowling,” Sark pouted, and Weiss wanted to tug on the man’s lower lip just to see how far out it would go, and if that could possibly make him any more adorable than he was right at this moment.
“Well, then… what do you want to do?” asked Weiss.
“I would rather enjoy seeing some aquatic mammals,” said Sark rather coyly. “And I’m highly susceptible to enjoying cotton candy. You wouldn’t be adverse to going to the zoo, would you?”
Weiss raised his eyebrows. The zoo?
Sark was staring at him all wide eyed, with his hair still sticking up in all different directions, the remnants of his previous pout still vaguely evident in his expression.
“Oh, okay,” Weiss gave in. “But we’re going bowling next time. And getting hot dogs.”
“Sure, sure,” Sark mumbled through a grin. “As if you can’t get hot dogs at the zoo.”
* * * *
Weiss’ car was still at the shop and Sark refused to take the bus two days in a row. “Why were you on the bus in the first place?” wondered Weiss.
“I was meeting a contact,” Sark said shortly. Weiss shrugged and called a taxi.
"I can't wait to see some monkeys," Weiss said, stepping from the yellow car.
Sark frowned. "That's so cliché. Of course you want to see the monkeys. C’mon, we’re going to see the dolphins and seals and shit.”
“But Jules, the monkeys are right by the entrance! We have to pass right by them to get to the fish and the sea lions!”
“We also have to pass by them to leave,” Sark pointed out. “We can see them last. I told you that I do what I want, and I want to go see the polar bears.”
Weiss had to admit that the polar bears had a pull over him too. Almost as much of a pull as Sark’s ridiculously smishable, shining grin. “Okay,” he said. “Polar bears first, and then we’ll see about getting you some cotton candy!”
“And you too?” Sark poked Weiss in the belly. “You look like you could use some cotton candy.”
Weiss couldn’t help himself, he giggled. “I sure could.”
* * * *
A half-eaten bag of fluffy sugar swung from Weiss’ hand, slapping against his knee. Sark walked next to him, his tongue darting out to lick a multi-colored sno-cone before the ice melted down his hand. “Look!” he pointed. “Giraffes!”
Weiss loved the giraffes. They always managed to seem clean and dust-covered at the same time. Also they were kind of like stretched out horses; like if they were accidentally a brachiosaurus.
“I like the giraffes,” said Sark. “They are as if a brachiosaurus became a mammal.”
Weiss grinned. He and Sark were so in sync. Aside from the whole Weiss being a CIA agent while Sark was a wanted terrorist thing, they had so much in common. It was like they were always meant to go to the zoo together and eat cotton candy and sno-cones.
“Sometimes they have little machines you can purchase giraffe food from,” said Sark. “It seems very unsanitary, but it’s oddly gratifying. Plus-“
“-they have weird purple tongues,” Weiss and Sark finished the sentence in unison.
Weiss looked around for one of the giraffe food machines, but his eyes got caught up on Sark who was watching the giraffes in apparent wonder.
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” said Sark, “ that we can keep these creatures inside a pen? It’s almost as if it is actually rather beneficial for them, at the time.”
“I suppose if we are going to be feeding them,” Weiss hazarded.
“These foods are likely their favorites,” said Sark. “Also, I’m positive this giraffe would like to lick the salt from my hand. And the sugar from the sno-cone that’s melted all over my fingers.”
Right! Weiss was supposed to be looking for giraffe food. He carefully avoided the thought of himself licking the sno-cone from Sark's fingers and peered around. Finally he saw what looked like an over-sized M&Ms dispenser on the other side of the giraffe pen. “C’mon over here Jules. I see what you’re looking for. They’ve put it way over on the other side.”
“Aw, to make us have a walk, I’m sure,” said Sark. He was trying to look grumpy, but Weiss could see right through his false frown. He was obviously delighted, which in turn made Weiss delighted.
Weiss put 50 cents into the machine and felt the crumbly bits of giraffe feed fall into his open palm. They smelled terrible and promised to be full of empty calories for the mammalian brachiosaurs. He split the feed into two equal amounts and gave some to Sark’s outstretched hand.
A giraffe peered over the fence with watery, doe-eyes. “Here you go giant giraffe animal,” Sark cooed, lifting his hand up to the animal. A long dark tongue whisked out of its mouth, and smacked against Sark’s hand, picking up the stale smelling feed.
Sark laughed. “You’re such a wonderful, dumb creature,” he baby talked and then turned to Weiss. “I’m all out of giraffe feed,” he pouted. “Look at her; she wants more.”
Weiss looked up at the giraffe. She certainly did want more, and it was clear that Sark wanted to give her more. Weiss looked down at his handful of feed. He did want to feed the giraffe too, but Sark was so enjoying it, and Weiss didn’t want anything more than to make this snuggly wooble-kins happy.
“Here you go, Honey Bunches,” he said, handing Sark the last of the giraffe pellets.
Sark grinned and held the food up to the giraffe. “Although, we’re going to have to talk if you’re going to insist upon calling me ‘Honey Bunches’.”
Weiss blushed and looked at his feet sheepishly. Shit, had he just called Sark “Honey Bunches” out loud? Again?
The giraffe food gone and Sark’s hand covered in giraffe saliva he turned back to Weiss. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go see your damn monkeys.”
“Oh, you’re all the monkey I need,” said Weiss. Shit, he’d spoken out loud again!
Sark shot a mocking glare and punched Weiss lightly on the arm. “Just give me the rest of the cotton candy, Eric.”
THE END.
(Hopefully forever this time. Although vagaries of a plot and reason are beginning to occur to me now and I'm very upset.)
Title: Weiss and Sark Hang Out and Go To The Zoo
Fandom: Alias
Rating/Warnings: PG + a couple of swears. Oh god, do NOT read this. D:
Characters/Pairings: Weiss/Sark
Word Count: 1,470
Disclaimer: I disclaim it!
Summary: It's a sequel to Weiss and Sark Hang Out and Make Cake. D:
Weiss stepped out of bed, feet finding worn slippers automatically and a yawn stretching his arms above his head. His yawn grew into a satisfied groan and Weiss realized that he felt good. Today was going to be awesome, he decided.
Slowly his mind began to catch up with the fact that it was, indeed, daytime, and that there were definitely thoughts it should be thinking. Weiss remembered then that Sark had come over the night before. Sark-the Sark, as in Mister, was in his apartment and they’d made one hell of a delicious cake.
Weiss decided that he was going to have cake for breakfast-the perfect way to kick of this awesome, good feeling day. Then he wondered if Sark was still on his couch. The little woobles had gotten so sated with cake that he had yawned all sleepily and fallen asleep right in Weiss’ living room. Eric had carefully unlaced and removed the snoogley, little terrorist’s shoes, and covered him with a down blanket. He smiled at the memory of how adorable he had looked.
Weiss stood and wrapped his bathrobe around himself. It was a Saturday, and unless the CIA called him with an urgent mission, he had the day off.
Stepping into the warm light of his living room Weiss saw sunbeams shining through the slats of the curtains to dance upon the blond, sleep-mussed hair of an adorable international criminal. The shadows it cast upon his face were mesmerizing.
“Mmmsph,” Sark groaned, blinking his eyes. “Where’m I? S’it morning?”
“G’morning Jules,” Weiss grinned, turning into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “You want some cake for breakfast? I’m gonna have more cake.”
Sark frowned, which made Weiss pause. Was something wrong?
“I stayed here the whole night?” wondered Sark’s British accent.
“The cake made you sleepy.”
“And… and… I slept here? Where are my shoes? They’re very expensive.”
“I put them near the door,” Weiss confessed. “Then I got you a blanket.”
Sark rubbed a thumb over the throw that covered his lap. “It’s very soft,” he observed. “How much cake is left?”
“Enough for us to have a delicious breakfast,” Weiss beamed. “Then we get to decide what to do today!”
* * * *
Weiss wanted to go bowling, and then maybe head to the grocery store to pick up more ingredients for desserts he could make. It would be lovely if Sark would decide to continue by his side for bowling, he thought. There was no point in going alone.
“I don’t fancy bowling,” Sark pouted, and Weiss wanted to tug on the man’s lower lip just to see how far out it would go, and if that could possibly make him any more adorable than he was right at this moment.
“Well, then… what do you want to do?” asked Weiss.
“I would rather enjoy seeing some aquatic mammals,” said Sark rather coyly. “And I’m highly susceptible to enjoying cotton candy. You wouldn’t be adverse to going to the zoo, would you?”
Weiss raised his eyebrows. The zoo?
Sark was staring at him all wide eyed, with his hair still sticking up in all different directions, the remnants of his previous pout still vaguely evident in his expression.
“Oh, okay,” Weiss gave in. “But we’re going bowling next time. And getting hot dogs.”
“Sure, sure,” Sark mumbled through a grin. “As if you can’t get hot dogs at the zoo.”
* * * *
Weiss’ car was still at the shop and Sark refused to take the bus two days in a row. “Why were you on the bus in the first place?” wondered Weiss.
“I was meeting a contact,” Sark said shortly. Weiss shrugged and called a taxi.
"I can't wait to see some monkeys," Weiss said, stepping from the yellow car.
Sark frowned. "That's so cliché. Of course you want to see the monkeys. C’mon, we’re going to see the dolphins and seals and shit.”
“But Jules, the monkeys are right by the entrance! We have to pass right by them to get to the fish and the sea lions!”
“We also have to pass by them to leave,” Sark pointed out. “We can see them last. I told you that I do what I want, and I want to go see the polar bears.”
Weiss had to admit that the polar bears had a pull over him too. Almost as much of a pull as Sark’s ridiculously smishable, shining grin. “Okay,” he said. “Polar bears first, and then we’ll see about getting you some cotton candy!”
“And you too?” Sark poked Weiss in the belly. “You look like you could use some cotton candy.”
Weiss couldn’t help himself, he giggled. “I sure could.”
* * * *
A half-eaten bag of fluffy sugar swung from Weiss’ hand, slapping against his knee. Sark walked next to him, his tongue darting out to lick a multi-colored sno-cone before the ice melted down his hand. “Look!” he pointed. “Giraffes!”
Weiss loved the giraffes. They always managed to seem clean and dust-covered at the same time. Also they were kind of like stretched out horses; like if they were accidentally a brachiosaurus.
“I like the giraffes,” said Sark. “They are as if a brachiosaurus became a mammal.”
Weiss grinned. He and Sark were so in sync. Aside from the whole Weiss being a CIA agent while Sark was a wanted terrorist thing, they had so much in common. It was like they were always meant to go to the zoo together and eat cotton candy and sno-cones.
“Sometimes they have little machines you can purchase giraffe food from,” said Sark. “It seems very unsanitary, but it’s oddly gratifying. Plus-“
“-they have weird purple tongues,” Weiss and Sark finished the sentence in unison.
Weiss looked around for one of the giraffe food machines, but his eyes got caught up on Sark who was watching the giraffes in apparent wonder.
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” said Sark, “ that we can keep these creatures inside a pen? It’s almost as if it is actually rather beneficial for them, at the time.”
“I suppose if we are going to be feeding them,” Weiss hazarded.
“These foods are likely their favorites,” said Sark. “Also, I’m positive this giraffe would like to lick the salt from my hand. And the sugar from the sno-cone that’s melted all over my fingers.”
Right! Weiss was supposed to be looking for giraffe food. He carefully avoided the thought of himself licking the sno-cone from Sark's fingers and peered around. Finally he saw what looked like an over-sized M&Ms dispenser on the other side of the giraffe pen. “C’mon over here Jules. I see what you’re looking for. They’ve put it way over on the other side.”
“Aw, to make us have a walk, I’m sure,” said Sark. He was trying to look grumpy, but Weiss could see right through his false frown. He was obviously delighted, which in turn made Weiss delighted.
Weiss put 50 cents into the machine and felt the crumbly bits of giraffe feed fall into his open palm. They smelled terrible and promised to be full of empty calories for the mammalian brachiosaurs. He split the feed into two equal amounts and gave some to Sark’s outstretched hand.
A giraffe peered over the fence with watery, doe-eyes. “Here you go giant giraffe animal,” Sark cooed, lifting his hand up to the animal. A long dark tongue whisked out of its mouth, and smacked against Sark’s hand, picking up the stale smelling feed.
Sark laughed. “You’re such a wonderful, dumb creature,” he baby talked and then turned to Weiss. “I’m all out of giraffe feed,” he pouted. “Look at her; she wants more.”
Weiss looked up at the giraffe. She certainly did want more, and it was clear that Sark wanted to give her more. Weiss looked down at his handful of feed. He did want to feed the giraffe too, but Sark was so enjoying it, and Weiss didn’t want anything more than to make this snuggly wooble-kins happy.
“Here you go, Honey Bunches,” he said, handing Sark the last of the giraffe pellets.
Sark grinned and held the food up to the giraffe. “Although, we’re going to have to talk if you’re going to insist upon calling me ‘Honey Bunches’.”
Weiss blushed and looked at his feet sheepishly. Shit, had he just called Sark “Honey Bunches” out loud? Again?
The giraffe food gone and Sark’s hand covered in giraffe saliva he turned back to Weiss. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go see your damn monkeys.”
“Oh, you’re all the monkey I need,” said Weiss. Shit, he’d spoken out loud again!
Sark shot a mocking glare and punched Weiss lightly on the arm. “Just give me the rest of the cotton candy, Eric.”
THE END.
(Hopefully forever this time. Although vagaries of a plot and reason are beginning to occur to me now and I'm very upset.)