Original, 'Tuesday' Slash
I know, I know, it's not Jacques and Russel, but every once in a while I just want some plain ol' high school fluff. Where dorky kids are dorky, and the jocks are surprisingly smart. Well, at least one of them is.
Tuesday
Doug looked at the hot, tempting slice of pepperoni pizza sitting on Carl’s plate and sighed as he poked at his own Tupperware full of plain grilled chicken and boiled green something-or-other. He was going to stop letting his dad make his lunch on the days he didn’t have enough time to do it himself. At least when he made veggies, they were identifiable.
Giving it up for a lost cause, he stuffed the last few bites of bland chicken into his mouth unenthusiastically and tried to focus on the long, convoluted explanation Carl was lecturing him with. Was it a show? No, it was a game. Carl had said something about cheats and controls. Right, it was that really popular game that every dude and a surprising number of girls were into right now. The one with guns and stuff.
Swallowing with a bit of effort, he waved his hand in a wait, wait motion. “You lost me a while back, man. So what’s so great about this game? I mean, apart from shooting things.”
Carl stopped mid-flailing-arm-motion and stared at him like lost his mind. “Did you not hear a word I’ve been saying?”
Doug just kind of shrugged; he’d honestly been more interested in rating his lunch on the Richter scale of disgusting, and Carl had been using all of the game-speak that he knew Doug couldn’t follow. “Uh, sorry? Maybe if you used words I actually knew, and, y’know, less rambling sentences.”
Carl grunted and pointed a slim finger at him. “I blame your father and his stupid ‘no fun in this household’ rules. You have got to be the only person I know who hasn’t played Nimbus.”
Doug shrugged again, and happily accepted the pepperoni Carl offered after picking them from his pizza. “I probably wouldn’t play them much even if I could. I don’t have much time with all of my practices, pre-college courses and chores.”
Looking mildly chastised, Carl began to tear the crust from his pizza; one of those weird habits that made Doug smile for no reason. “Sorry, I know you’ve got tons to do. Good thing you’ve got me to play enough for the both of us. Anyway, the newest game is releasing in a week, and I can’t wait to get my greedy little hands on it.”
“So what’s new about it? Isn’t it all the same ‘shoot this guy, blow up that guy, kill them all’ stuff? I don’t get what could be so great about a new game with the exact same concept.”
Carl sighed and shook his head sadly. “It’s a good thing you’re both hot and ridiculously smart, because I’m not sure we’d work out if you weren’t.”
The first bell rang for the end of lunch and Doug gathered his things up as he scoffed. “Whatever, man. Take your dorky self to English and I’ll see you after practice, yeah?”
Carl nodded, unable to answer around the rest of the pizza he’d hurriedly stuffed into his mouth. Snickering, Doug kissed him on the cheek and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Later.”
A crumpled napkin hit him squarely in the back of the head and when he picked it up, Carl was shaking a fist in mocking-threat. Laughing now, he shook his head and tossed the garbage away as he left the cafeteria, nearly running into Jason, another sports-junkie who was in nearly every sport Doug was.
“Watch your step, fag.”
Doug just raised an eyebrow, refusing to let some asshole ruin his good mood. “Don’t act like you weren’t grabbing all over Scott yesterday at practice. I’m surprised you didn’t embarrass yourself.” He didn’t bother looking back as Jason sputtered through his fury, only to come up with another stupid slur.
Smirking, Doug made it to his AP Calculus class just as the second bell rang, looking forward to wrestling practice, where he could smash Jason into the floor without getting into trouble for it. Practice; it was for the good of the team, after all.
Tuesday
Doug looked at the hot, tempting slice of pepperoni pizza sitting on Carl’s plate and sighed as he poked at his own Tupperware full of plain grilled chicken and boiled green something-or-other. He was going to stop letting his dad make his lunch on the days he didn’t have enough time to do it himself. At least when he made veggies, they were identifiable.
Giving it up for a lost cause, he stuffed the last few bites of bland chicken into his mouth unenthusiastically and tried to focus on the long, convoluted explanation Carl was lecturing him with. Was it a show? No, it was a game. Carl had said something about cheats and controls. Right, it was that really popular game that every dude and a surprising number of girls were into right now. The one with guns and stuff.
Swallowing with a bit of effort, he waved his hand in a wait, wait motion. “You lost me a while back, man. So what’s so great about this game? I mean, apart from shooting things.”
Carl stopped mid-flailing-arm-motion and stared at him like lost his mind. “Did you not hear a word I’ve been saying?”
Doug just kind of shrugged; he’d honestly been more interested in rating his lunch on the Richter scale of disgusting, and Carl had been using all of the game-speak that he knew Doug couldn’t follow. “Uh, sorry? Maybe if you used words I actually knew, and, y’know, less rambling sentences.”
Carl grunted and pointed a slim finger at him. “I blame your father and his stupid ‘no fun in this household’ rules. You have got to be the only person I know who hasn’t played Nimbus.”
Doug shrugged again, and happily accepted the pepperoni Carl offered after picking them from his pizza. “I probably wouldn’t play them much even if I could. I don’t have much time with all of my practices, pre-college courses and chores.”
Looking mildly chastised, Carl began to tear the crust from his pizza; one of those weird habits that made Doug smile for no reason. “Sorry, I know you’ve got tons to do. Good thing you’ve got me to play enough for the both of us. Anyway, the newest game is releasing in a week, and I can’t wait to get my greedy little hands on it.”
“So what’s new about it? Isn’t it all the same ‘shoot this guy, blow up that guy, kill them all’ stuff? I don’t get what could be so great about a new game with the exact same concept.”
Carl sighed and shook his head sadly. “It’s a good thing you’re both hot and ridiculously smart, because I’m not sure we’d work out if you weren’t.”
The first bell rang for the end of lunch and Doug gathered his things up as he scoffed. “Whatever, man. Take your dorky self to English and I’ll see you after practice, yeah?”
Carl nodded, unable to answer around the rest of the pizza he’d hurriedly stuffed into his mouth. Snickering, Doug kissed him on the cheek and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Later.”
A crumpled napkin hit him squarely in the back of the head and when he picked it up, Carl was shaking a fist in mocking-threat. Laughing now, he shook his head and tossed the garbage away as he left the cafeteria, nearly running into Jason, another sports-junkie who was in nearly every sport Doug was.
“Watch your step, fag.”
Doug just raised an eyebrow, refusing to let some asshole ruin his good mood. “Don’t act like you weren’t grabbing all over Scott yesterday at practice. I’m surprised you didn’t embarrass yourself.” He didn’t bother looking back as Jason sputtered through his fury, only to come up with another stupid slur.
Smirking, Doug made it to his AP Calculus class just as the second bell rang, looking forward to wrestling practice, where he could smash Jason into the floor without getting into trouble for it. Practice; it was for the good of the team, after all.