Half A Century
Rating: PG
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Yorkeses
Prompt: Years
Notes: Table 4-Time of the 12 Stories challenge.
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: It's Stacey's birthday. She's a little depressed.
07: Years
She woke up on her birthday and started to cry. He sat up and leaned over her.
“Darling? What is the matter, my love?” he asked, worried.
She shook her head and tried to hide it. It was trite, to her, and she didn’t want to share something as insignificant as this. She pulled the covers up, more than a little self-conscious, and quietly wished she could go back in time and leave her body behind.
Dale gave up on finding the problem and began searching for a solution. He pressed his lips to hers quickly, then longer, slower. Ran his hand up her side through the sheets. When he mumbled, “Happy birthday,” though, she flinched and pulled away.
“Stacey?”
She shook her head and swung her legs down off of the bed. Dale watched her dress with a very pointed interest.
“Darling, it’s your birthday,” he reminded her.
“Don’t remind me,” she said.
“Come back to bed.”
She gave him a dirty look. He reached out and grabbed her hand to pull her to him.
“Dale,” she sighed. “I’m fifty.”
“Yes.”
“Half a century.”
“And?”
He kissed her again and she couldn’t seem to remember what, exactly, her point had been.
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Yorkeses
Prompt: Years
Notes: Table 4-Time of the 12 Stories challenge.
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: It's Stacey's birthday. She's a little depressed.
07: Years
She woke up on her birthday and started to cry. He sat up and leaned over her.
“Darling? What is the matter, my love?” he asked, worried.
She shook her head and tried to hide it. It was trite, to her, and she didn’t want to share something as insignificant as this. She pulled the covers up, more than a little self-conscious, and quietly wished she could go back in time and leave her body behind.
Dale gave up on finding the problem and began searching for a solution. He pressed his lips to hers quickly, then longer, slower. Ran his hand up her side through the sheets. When he mumbled, “Happy birthday,” though, she flinched and pulled away.
“Stacey?”
She shook her head and swung her legs down off of the bed. Dale watched her dress with a very pointed interest.
“Darling, it’s your birthday,” he reminded her.
“Don’t remind me,” she said.
“Come back to bed.”
She gave him a dirty look. He reached out and grabbed her hand to pull her to him.
“Dale,” she sighed. “I’m fifty.”
“Yes.”
“Half a century.”
“And?”
He kissed her again and she couldn’t seem to remember what, exactly, her point had been.