Weekend WIP (if it can be called a WIP when it's half an hour old)
This is not officially part of the still-in-progress Claudia & Steve snuggle!fic, although given how I might be framing that one, you never know. It's just what happened to spontaneously result from the onslaught of W13 feelings I've been having recently.
Weekend WIP, untitled, the beginning of a page I wrote this afternoon that may or may not go anywhere. Warehouse 13, in which Claudia sensibly uses her BFFEWYLION as a pillow during a flight:
"Any middle-aged dude who wants to sleep with his head in my lap would have to offer to pay through the nose for the privilege, and I'd still say no," Claudia had muttered after the offending businessman seated in front of her finally took the hint after her sixth kick to the back of his chair. It was the last thing she'd said before passing out in her own seat, the back of which stood proudly straight, a testament to the fact that she'd flown enough to never, never tilt it back, no matter how tired she was.
Sticking to her resolve was made easier by the fact that she and Steve were old hands at traveling together. It had taken only two flights before Steve came to expect that, sometime after the token bag of pretzels had been reduced to salty crumbs--Claudia never passed up food on work trips, having missed too many meals in the line of duty--she would flip up the armrest between their seats, huddle under the scratchy airplane blanket, and drift off with her head on his shoulder.
Originally posted at http://umadoshi.dreamwidth.org/448150.html. Comment here if you like, or comment there using OpenID. Comments at DW:
Weekend WIP, untitled, the beginning of a page I wrote this afternoon that may or may not go anywhere. Warehouse 13, in which Claudia sensibly uses her BFFEWYLION as a pillow during a flight:
"Any middle-aged dude who wants to sleep with his head in my lap would have to offer to pay through the nose for the privilege, and I'd still say no," Claudia had muttered after the offending businessman seated in front of her finally took the hint after her sixth kick to the back of his chair. It was the last thing she'd said before passing out in her own seat, the back of which stood proudly straight, a testament to the fact that she'd flown enough to never, never tilt it back, no matter how tired she was.
Sticking to her resolve was made easier by the fact that she and Steve were old hands at traveling together. It had taken only two flights before Steve came to expect that, sometime after the token bag of pretzels had been reduced to salty crumbs--Claudia never passed up food on work trips, having missed too many meals in the line of duty--she would flip up the armrest between their seats, huddle under the scratchy airplane blanket, and drift off with her head on his shoulder.
Originally posted at http://umadoshi.dreamwidth.org/448150.html. Comment here if you like, or comment there using OpenID. Comments at DW: