Comeuppance
Title: Comeuppance
By: tagdott
Character(s): ray, gene, wilma
Rating: Possible Blue Cortina.
Warnings: Colorful language, nudity.
Word count: about 1,155.
Notes: This is actually part one. I posted Part 2 last night. Oops! Wilma breaks up with Ray. Twisted humor.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kudos and BBC. I’m just having a little fun with them.
Tags: fic, ray, gene
Title: Comeuppance
By: tagdott
Title Comeuppance
By: tagdott
“Oi!” the shout came through the wall as the alarm clock hit the far side of the flat. “Keep it the fuck down! I jus’ got t’ sleep!” It was the newest neighbor. She was a foul tempered old bat. “Damned filthy Punk!”
“THEN SHUT TH’ FUCK UP N’ SLEEP!” bellowed Ray Carling, sending the drawer from the nightstand following the clock. “Damn ditzy twat,” he muttered under his breath. Most older women didn’t faze Ray. But this one had been living here for the past three weeks and had made her presence know to everyone. He would never come out and confront her. He didn’t want to think about what Gene would do if he caught him calling out an old lady.
It was Ray’s typical morning. Hung over, rung out, he felt like shit. Ray was not in the best shape. The muscles were there and still functional. He could beat a bloke senseless in a matter of minutes. If he spent a little more time taking care of himself, he’d pass the fitness tests without any real effort. It wasn’t that Ray was unhealthy; he was simply a bit soft. He’d recovered from the gunshot wound at the tunnel; he and the nurse he’d been with had of course ended it. She couldn’t compete with his other interests. So, he was back with Wilma Flagg. Remembering where he was, Ray reached over for Wilma, his current girl. Her side of the bed was cold. Odd, he didn’t recall her saying anything about going out. It took him a moment to find the note she left on the pillow. He squinted to read it in the dim what looked like morning light coming through the filthy window. It read:
Raymond, you rank, vile bastard! I’ll be gone by the time you pull out of the stupor you’re in. I’ve told the manager I’m giving up the flat. He says you got a week to get out. Do not try to find me! I never want to see or hear from you again you sick nonce! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME BY THAT NAME WHILE WE WERE IN THE MIDST OF PASSION!! Feel lucky to still be whole.
Deepest hatred,
Wilma
P.S. You still owe me ₤590! Send it to my sister’s postal in Brighton; she’ll see I get it.
Ray chuckled, folding the paper. He’d had these fights with his beautiful bird before. This wouldn’t be the last time. He spent a few minutes trying to figure out which girl’s name he called out last night. No bother, she couldn’t stay away from him for that long. She’d realize what she was missing.
Briefly, Ray squinted at the old faded photograph he kept next to his wallet and badge. It was a black and white picture of two men, laughing, in the full bloom of youth. They were a bit bruised, bloodied, their naval uniforms slightly rumpled. They were holding each other up more than on to one another. The larger, older of the two was showing off his insignia as best he could. He was a handsome blond brut. Bold, confident and devilish from the looks of him. The younger man also blond looked a little shy about being in front of the camera. His features hadn’t finished maturing he still looked like a kid. Not quite as sure of himself, but he was doing his best to keep up with his friend. He flipped it over. “Me and Gene waitin’ for ‘Arry to kick our asses.” Was scrawled in smeared black ink on the back. Ray smiled, wondering what happened to the stupid, arrogant boys they used to be.
He waded into the bathroom to take care of a few more manly needs. Taking hold of his dick, it was a second or so before he realized he couldn’t feel the ample amount of pubic hair he’d had since he was twelve. ‘This has got t’ be part o’ th’ hangover, or a really fucked up dream.’ He thought. Letting out a sharp bark as he shot cum over the toilet seat, he realized his hands were still slightly numb form sleep. ‘Thas’ it, m’ not up yet.’ Not wasting the effort to wash up, Ray stumbled back into the bedroom, looking for a phone he knew was buried somewhere in the bed.
“Carling,” he groaned into the receiver. “It’s me day off. What yeh want, Phyllis.”
The only time he’d get a call at Wilma’s would be from work, and then only if it was something big going on.
“First,” said Gene Hunt, sounding more annoyed than usual. “It’s Monday, yeh lazy assed git. Second, we got this thing here called work t’ do, you remember what work is don’ cha? Third and final, I don’ give a damn how sick you may be, yer days off were used up after that time yeh took t’ the game.”
“Oh, sorry, Guv,” Ray mumbled into the phone, pulling the cord along with him as he re-entered the bath. “Got m’ days crossed up. Be in as soon as…” He stood staring at the full-length mirror in horror. Feeling for the cord to the light. Ray Carling screamed as he saw his reflection. Then, he sobered up enough to pick up the distinct stench of hair removal cream.
“Carling?! Ray! What the bloody hell’s going on there?!” Gene sounded more worried than angry. He could hear his best friend gasping and hissing into the phone. Then, the line disconnected.
Ray stood there, seething, holding the unplugged phone in his hand. His beautiful blue eyes wide with disbelief at his hairless reflection staring back at him. He could feel himself starting to cry.
…
Wilma Flagg drove down the highway, a very satisfied smile crossing her lips. Her dark brown hair tied under deep burgundy scarf. Wilma’s tight red dress would be showing off her very accented curves if not for the long green overcoat she wore. She had everything she owned that she didn’t want to leave behind packed into the back of her old, pale grey Morris 1100. She really hadn’t done that much to Ray as far as she was concerned. He wasn’t shot, burned, cut or bruised. Maybe his pride was wounded.
Her actions might be seen as juvenile. But, she wasn’t really that old.
All she’d done was to cut up his clothes, use her cream to strip him of every bit of hair on his body except his brows and lashes. It would grow back. If he needed something to wear, she’d left what he brought her. (He’d look good in that little pink number with the matching panties. He still had his other things the shoes that picture, a few suits and that damned brick patterned shirt were at the dry cleaning). And, yes he deserved what she wrote on the back of his, now bald head in India ink. He was a tosser. Maybe she did go too far when she wrote “Insert here” with a downward arrow pointing at his ass. But then, he screamed out Gene Hunt’s name at the high point of their love making.
Eventually to be continued…
By: tagdott
Character(s): ray, gene, wilma
Rating: Possible Blue Cortina.
Warnings: Colorful language, nudity.
Word count: about 1,155.
Notes: This is actually part one. I posted Part 2 last night. Oops! Wilma breaks up with Ray. Twisted humor.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kudos and BBC. I’m just having a little fun with them.
Tags: fic, ray, gene
Title: Comeuppance
By: tagdott
Title Comeuppance
By: tagdott
“Oi!” the shout came through the wall as the alarm clock hit the far side of the flat. “Keep it the fuck down! I jus’ got t’ sleep!” It was the newest neighbor. She was a foul tempered old bat. “Damned filthy Punk!”
“THEN SHUT TH’ FUCK UP N’ SLEEP!” bellowed Ray Carling, sending the drawer from the nightstand following the clock. “Damn ditzy twat,” he muttered under his breath. Most older women didn’t faze Ray. But this one had been living here for the past three weeks and had made her presence know to everyone. He would never come out and confront her. He didn’t want to think about what Gene would do if he caught him calling out an old lady.
It was Ray’s typical morning. Hung over, rung out, he felt like shit. Ray was not in the best shape. The muscles were there and still functional. He could beat a bloke senseless in a matter of minutes. If he spent a little more time taking care of himself, he’d pass the fitness tests without any real effort. It wasn’t that Ray was unhealthy; he was simply a bit soft. He’d recovered from the gunshot wound at the tunnel; he and the nurse he’d been with had of course ended it. She couldn’t compete with his other interests. So, he was back with Wilma Flagg. Remembering where he was, Ray reached over for Wilma, his current girl. Her side of the bed was cold. Odd, he didn’t recall her saying anything about going out. It took him a moment to find the note she left on the pillow. He squinted to read it in the dim what looked like morning light coming through the filthy window. It read:
Raymond, you rank, vile bastard! I’ll be gone by the time you pull out of the stupor you’re in. I’ve told the manager I’m giving up the flat. He says you got a week to get out. Do not try to find me! I never want to see or hear from you again you sick nonce! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME BY THAT NAME WHILE WE WERE IN THE MIDST OF PASSION!! Feel lucky to still be whole.
Deepest hatred,
Wilma
P.S. You still owe me ₤590! Send it to my sister’s postal in Brighton; she’ll see I get it.
Ray chuckled, folding the paper. He’d had these fights with his beautiful bird before. This wouldn’t be the last time. He spent a few minutes trying to figure out which girl’s name he called out last night. No bother, she couldn’t stay away from him for that long. She’d realize what she was missing.
Briefly, Ray squinted at the old faded photograph he kept next to his wallet and badge. It was a black and white picture of two men, laughing, in the full bloom of youth. They were a bit bruised, bloodied, their naval uniforms slightly rumpled. They were holding each other up more than on to one another. The larger, older of the two was showing off his insignia as best he could. He was a handsome blond brut. Bold, confident and devilish from the looks of him. The younger man also blond looked a little shy about being in front of the camera. His features hadn’t finished maturing he still looked like a kid. Not quite as sure of himself, but he was doing his best to keep up with his friend. He flipped it over. “Me and Gene waitin’ for ‘Arry to kick our asses.” Was scrawled in smeared black ink on the back. Ray smiled, wondering what happened to the stupid, arrogant boys they used to be.
He waded into the bathroom to take care of a few more manly needs. Taking hold of his dick, it was a second or so before he realized he couldn’t feel the ample amount of pubic hair he’d had since he was twelve. ‘This has got t’ be part o’ th’ hangover, or a really fucked up dream.’ He thought. Letting out a sharp bark as he shot cum over the toilet seat, he realized his hands were still slightly numb form sleep. ‘Thas’ it, m’ not up yet.’ Not wasting the effort to wash up, Ray stumbled back into the bedroom, looking for a phone he knew was buried somewhere in the bed.
“Carling,” he groaned into the receiver. “It’s me day off. What yeh want, Phyllis.”
The only time he’d get a call at Wilma’s would be from work, and then only if it was something big going on.
“First,” said Gene Hunt, sounding more annoyed than usual. “It’s Monday, yeh lazy assed git. Second, we got this thing here called work t’ do, you remember what work is don’ cha? Third and final, I don’ give a damn how sick you may be, yer days off were used up after that time yeh took t’ the game.”
“Oh, sorry, Guv,” Ray mumbled into the phone, pulling the cord along with him as he re-entered the bath. “Got m’ days crossed up. Be in as soon as…” He stood staring at the full-length mirror in horror. Feeling for the cord to the light. Ray Carling screamed as he saw his reflection. Then, he sobered up enough to pick up the distinct stench of hair removal cream.
“Carling?! Ray! What the bloody hell’s going on there?!” Gene sounded more worried than angry. He could hear his best friend gasping and hissing into the phone. Then, the line disconnected.
Ray stood there, seething, holding the unplugged phone in his hand. His beautiful blue eyes wide with disbelief at his hairless reflection staring back at him. He could feel himself starting to cry.
…
Wilma Flagg drove down the highway, a very satisfied smile crossing her lips. Her dark brown hair tied under deep burgundy scarf. Wilma’s tight red dress would be showing off her very accented curves if not for the long green overcoat she wore. She had everything she owned that she didn’t want to leave behind packed into the back of her old, pale grey Morris 1100. She really hadn’t done that much to Ray as far as she was concerned. He wasn’t shot, burned, cut or bruised. Maybe his pride was wounded.
Her actions might be seen as juvenile. But, she wasn’t really that old.
All she’d done was to cut up his clothes, use her cream to strip him of every bit of hair on his body except his brows and lashes. It would grow back. If he needed something to wear, she’d left what he brought her. (He’d look good in that little pink number with the matching panties. He still had his other things the shoes that picture, a few suits and that damned brick patterned shirt were at the dry cleaning). And, yes he deserved what she wrote on the back of his, now bald head in India ink. He was a tosser. Maybe she did go too far when she wrote “Insert here” with a downward arrow pointing at his ass. But then, he screamed out Gene Hunt’s name at the high point of their love making.
Eventually to be continued…