Watchmen Kink Meme 2: Electric Boogaloo. Or not.
Alright, alright, I'm back now. Here ya go kids. (You're just lucky the other one didn't run out in the middle of my vacation grumble grumble)
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work ( Read more... )
He hiccuped.
How did one go about curing drunkeness, anyway? Wasn't there something about "hair of the dog"? He was sure there was. There was really only one way to find out. Even if he didn't care for metaphors with dogs in them.
He was clearly going to have to knock back a few more.
Walter straightened, scrutinizing the brunette seriously before grabbing at her drink in a movement that would have made Mr. Miyagi swoon. He missed by several inches, and grabbed something else entirely.
Walter managed a small, "Eek," before readjusting and relieving her of her glass.
"Uhh, Walter?", the woman asked, turning red.
"Shouldn't be drinking." He emphasized this by getting rid of the entire glass in one swallow, and setting a very serious glare on the pair of brunettes in front of him. "Know who you were dancing with? Daniel is going to be *hic* cross. Too pretty to be keeping bad company."
"What? But I'M Danielle."
The conversation was interrupted by a loud bang, as several tall, pale, and sparkly guests arrived with all the dramatic flair of an exploding disco ball. The leader noticed Walter, grinned, locked eyes, and mouthed *I'll catch you later.* before fading somewhere into the already-crowded dance hall.
Strangely, Walter did not find this as disturbing as he should have. He contemplated the empty glass in his hand.
"Drink's gone. Will get you some punch." And himself some more of that orange stuff, obviously the champagne was hair from the wrong dog.
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"I'm sure she didn't mean it. Sometimes parents can be cruel. If she was drunk, maybe-"
"No, no, meant it," Walter was SNIFFLING. It made Dan's skin crawl.
"Er- Everything alright here?"
Walter froze, face bright red and eyes wild as he glanced up sharply at his approaching partner and pointed a wavering hand at him, "AND YOU AREN'T HELPING, DANIEL. WITH YOUR. SPANDEX AND YOUR. ENK." The red blossomed further if it was possible, consuming his freckles in a violent self loathing rage.
"He's had a few too many, I think," Danielle smiled uselessly before offering out her hand to the man who looked *so familiar* but she couldn't place it. "I'm Danielle."
"I'm Dan," He laughed, "And I can't believe he's had ONE- I mean, It's been a pretty great party but..."
"You're pretty cute, Dan," Danielle fumbled with her sleeves, shyly glancing down at her shoes. Walter looked ready to bolt for the men's room, but Dan was distracted by the low cut of the buxom woman's dress.
"Say, would you like to dance?"
As the young woman consented, taking his head to leave the red head to what remained of his fifth drink, Walter's blood seethed.
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He was concentrating so intently that he didn't notice the woman sidling up next to him and ordering a Coke from the barman. The shift of green finally caught Walter's attention and glanced over, stunned by the brightest shock of orange hair and freckles that he seen since... since he looked in the mirror before leaving. It was disturbingly familiar.
Walter opened his mouth to ask about why she was here (and did she know any brown-haired, owl-loving sirens who tempted otherwise good partners from their friend's side?), but what came out was "...nice dress. Good workmanship."
The woman's eyes widened, then narrowed in a glare. She seemed to check her initial response before saying "...thank you. Made it myself." Her voice was low and gravelly, but not unpleasant to hear.
They both looked away, looking back at the barman who brought the woman's Coke. Their identical eyes lit up at seeing the familiar green glass bottle.
"Didn't think they made these anymore," the woman said fondly, admiring the play of light on it as if it was a chandelier. Something seized high and tight in Walter's chest, unfamiliar and not entirely unpleasant.
"Name's Walter," he said, holding out his hand, amazed at how easy it was to say.
The woman looked at his hand, worn with callouses and scars, and smiled (sharp but not unkind). "Wanda," she said, taking his hand in hers, equally rough.
They held on for just a little too long.
Wrote this before my first coffee, don't hate me!
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