FIC: blue eyes electric with sin (and a boy that wants to soak it in) [GG/SC]
Title: blue eyes electric with sin (and a boy that wants to soak it in)
Author:
ava_leigh_fitz
Rating: T (language I guess)
Fandom: Gilmore Girls/Sin City
Pairings: Jess/Becky
Word Count: 673
Summary: It’s been three months since he left Connecticut and another two since California (he had a fight with Jimmy) Sasha said he should Kerouac his way across the country until he figured out what he wanted.
A/N: This is the result of another conversation with
muffin_sue, who clearly creates the weirdest crossover 'ships imaginable and I love her for it. I mean to post this a whole lot earlier but life and my mind got in the way.
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The timer counts down from the second he picks up the handset and Jesus Christ how did he end up here? It’s supposed to be brief phone-call, one that lets Luke know he’s not dead yet. He never says where he is - one part shame, two parts stubbornness and one part ego (he thinks that maybe she might ask.) There’s a clicking of high heel boots and a drag on a cigarette walking down the sidewalk and he’s not in the mood to be propositioned (it’s already happened twice today and none of the girls here are his type.)
It’s been three months since he left Connecticut and another two since California (he had a fight with Jimmy) Sasha said he should Kerouac his way across the country until he figured out what he wanted. It’s the only piece of advice he’s ever taken.
The city is cold and dark and dirty in every sense of the word. There are dive bars and seedy pawn shops and peepshows everywhere and it’s enough to make a good man bad. His last ride drove him all the way here from Arizona, all to see some chick named Nancy that can do some fantastic things with a lasso, or so he’s heard. He laughed and said there’s no way he’d cross a country, just for a girl. (Except he nearly did. About five times in the past three weeks. He misses her more than he should and her cell number is imprinted on his fingers.) It’s a whore of a city, teases its customers and kicking them out on their ass as soon as it gets paid.
"Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?"
Is it bad that he only turns his head? She has hers bowed down as she lights a second cigarette, throwing the other to the ground, a burnt out sacrifice to grind beneath the heel of her thigh high boot. Her hair is long and dark and she’s encased in leather and legs that seem to go on forever. Silver crosses that dangle from her ears and glint in a sinister way in the dark murky night of Sin City in March. There’s something about her he can’t quite place, some almost innocence that didn’t belong in her words. He looks back at the phone booth and starts to dial the number. He’s never been propositioned so much in his life (not even by that crazy friend of Cassie’s, who’d find a way to fuck in a nunnery.)
“So?”
He turns her way again and she’s looking straight at him now with eyes so blue his heart wants to explode because it can’t possibly be her. It’s not her because she’s at Yale with her books and her good girl attitude and Jesus Christ how did she end up here? His mouth is open a little and he wants to grab her arm and run run run; get the hell out of Dodge and fly her anywhere but here with its bars and its leather and its sex for sale.
He wonders what Lorelai would say if she knew what her daughter was doing. Her pants are crotchless and she has a dirty fifty peeking out of her top. He wants to throw up.
He nearly does.
“In that case, I want the phone.”
The verbal thing up and left the minute she looked at him and she shimmies in front of him. The length of her body leans against him as she arches her arm backwards, demanding the plastic. The timer counts down and his dollar’s gone and The handset slips from his hand into hers and his fingers brush against the skin of her stomach. She twists her head towards him, the blue sinking her innocence with the sin she sells and she says, “Anything more and you’ve gotta pay. Got it?”
He steps back. She motions with her eyes ‘Get gone,’ so he does. As he walks away he hears a shaky, “Hi Mom.”
He throws up in the next trashcan.
Author:
ava_leigh_fitz
Rating: T (language I guess)
Fandom: Gilmore Girls/Sin City
Pairings: Jess/Becky
Word Count: 673
Summary: It’s been three months since he left Connecticut and another two since California (he had a fight with Jimmy) Sasha said he should Kerouac his way across the country until he figured out what he wanted.
A/N: This is the result of another conversation with
muffin_sue, who clearly creates the weirdest crossover 'ships imaginable and I love her for it. I mean to post this a whole lot earlier but life and my mind got in the way.
---
---
The timer counts down from the second he picks up the handset and Jesus Christ how did he end up here? It’s supposed to be brief phone-call, one that lets Luke know he’s not dead yet. He never says where he is - one part shame, two parts stubbornness and one part ego (he thinks that maybe she might ask.) There’s a clicking of high heel boots and a drag on a cigarette walking down the sidewalk and he’s not in the mood to be propositioned (it’s already happened twice today and none of the girls here are his type.)
It’s been three months since he left Connecticut and another two since California (he had a fight with Jimmy) Sasha said he should Kerouac his way across the country until he figured out what he wanted. It’s the only piece of advice he’s ever taken.
The city is cold and dark and dirty in every sense of the word. There are dive bars and seedy pawn shops and peepshows everywhere and it’s enough to make a good man bad. His last ride drove him all the way here from Arizona, all to see some chick named Nancy that can do some fantastic things with a lasso, or so he’s heard. He laughed and said there’s no way he’d cross a country, just for a girl. (Except he nearly did. About five times in the past three weeks. He misses her more than he should and her cell number is imprinted on his fingers.) It’s a whore of a city, teases its customers and kicking them out on their ass as soon as it gets paid.
"Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?"
Is it bad that he only turns his head? She has hers bowed down as she lights a second cigarette, throwing the other to the ground, a burnt out sacrifice to grind beneath the heel of her thigh high boot. Her hair is long and dark and she’s encased in leather and legs that seem to go on forever. Silver crosses that dangle from her ears and glint in a sinister way in the dark murky night of Sin City in March. There’s something about her he can’t quite place, some almost innocence that didn’t belong in her words. He looks back at the phone booth and starts to dial the number. He’s never been propositioned so much in his life (not even by that crazy friend of Cassie’s, who’d find a way to fuck in a nunnery.)
“So?”
He turns her way again and she’s looking straight at him now with eyes so blue his heart wants to explode because it can’t possibly be her. It’s not her because she’s at Yale with her books and her good girl attitude and Jesus Christ how did she end up here? His mouth is open a little and he wants to grab her arm and run run run; get the hell out of Dodge and fly her anywhere but here with its bars and its leather and its sex for sale.
He wonders what Lorelai would say if she knew what her daughter was doing. Her pants are crotchless and she has a dirty fifty peeking out of her top. He wants to throw up.
He nearly does.
“In that case, I want the phone.”
The verbal thing up and left the minute she looked at him and she shimmies in front of him. The length of her body leans against him as she arches her arm backwards, demanding the plastic. The timer counts down and his dollar’s gone and The handset slips from his hand into hers and his fingers brush against the skin of her stomach. She twists her head towards him, the blue sinking her innocence with the sin she sells and she says, “Anything more and you’ve gotta pay. Got it?”
He steps back. She motions with her eyes ‘Get gone,’ so he does. As he walks away he hears a shaky, “Hi Mom.”
He throws up in the next trashcan.