Yours, Mine and Ours
Mostly Mine, Though
Rating: R
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Victor and Janet Stein, The Pride, Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Summary: Janet has a surprise.
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
It was amazing to think that such a tiny woman could contain so much lust.
Victor actually found himself hiding in the garage, just so that he could breathe for a few minutes without being asked if his mouth couldn't be better occupied some other way.
He lit a cigarrette(one of many in his long line of ‘last’ smokes) and stepped out the side door. His back hit the wall and he sighed. He wasn’t walking right. That girl had done something to him.
"Victor!"
He jumped, ducked a little and looked around for the owner of the voice. Dale Yorkes was watching him over the fence.
"Shut up! She’ll hear you!" he hissed. "What do you want?"
He crept over to the fence with more than one glance over his very paranoid shoulder, and looked down at his neighbor.
"I thought you’d like to know that Janet is inside speaking to my wife," he said. "Please, God, if there is any mercy in your, er, personage, come get her before my wife dies of embarassment.
Victor looked him over. He was obviously deadly serious.
"Do you know what I’ve been doing today?" he asked.
"I don’t think I want to know," Dale replied.
"I have been having far more sex than any forty-one year old man should have and still be healthy," he informed his neighbor. "I am sore and old and tired and you want me to go get the wildcat that’s done this to me?"
"Yes."
Dale turned and walked back into his house, pausing at the door to state, very audibly, Victor’s location and actions.
"God damn," he muttered, blowing a smoke ring of frustration.
Janet stepped out of the house. He ducked and hoped she hadn’t seen him. There were some places man was not meant to be sore, and he was feeling it in one of them.
She made it to the fence in record time. She was far too short to see over it just by standing, so she solved this problem by gripping the top of the fence and pulling herself up, getting a good look at Victor crouching on the other side, cigarrette in hand.
"Victor," she said.
"Hello, my sweet," he squeaked.
She swung a leg up and caught it between two of the tines of the privacy fence. Victor thought for a moment that she was going to fall, and made a move to catch her, but instead, she hopped gracefully over the fence, landing next to him with a very annoyed look on her face.
"Victor, you promised," she said.
"I know."
"Victor."
He sighed and put the cigarrette out on the ground.
"I’ve been smoking for more than twenty years. I don’t see what the problem is," he said.
"The problem is that it smells bad and it causes health problems.
"Sweetheart, we’ve been married how long now? Four years? And you’ve never complained until now."
Janet glared at him. "Yes, well, I was an impressionable child, too," she snapped.
Victor sighed and gave up, knowing he was just going to lose this one. Still, he couldn’t resist one last jab.
"If you were such an impressionable child, why the hell did you marry me?"
He started toward the house, opening the door for her. She slapped his ass and preceded him into the living room.
They had been the talk of the neighborhood when they’d started dating. She was eighteen and he was twenty years older. She’d never had a problem, though, and he’d never really cared about what the neighbors thought. That is, until someone called the police on them, saying he was holding her under duress.
There is nothing like having the local police walk in whilst one is making love to one’s significant other.
"Victor!" she called. "You’re letting out all the cool air!"
He stepped inside and closed the door.
The couch was exactly four years and three months old. He had refused to even sit on the old one after the police incident.
"Baby, let’s not make love," he said, hopefully, noting her current occupation: rapidly unbuttoning her shirt.
"What?"
"Um, I’m kinda sore?" he offered tentatively.
"Take it like a man. If I’m not sore yet, there’s no reason you should be," she said.
"You try being my age," he mumbled.
"I heard that!"
"Good!"
Nevertheless. She was ready to go and he’d known what he was getting into when he’d started this whole fiasco.
"You sure you don’t want to go for a ride in the car instead?" he asked. Janet liked to drive and she liked to drive fast.
"I am sure. I’d rather go for a ride on the Victor-pony."
He dropped his shirt in a laundry basket. He wouldn’t be needing that anytime soon.
"How about dinner?"
"Victor, why are you so intent on talking me out of this?" she asked. "Usually you have absolutely no problem with it."
"Not to be crass, but usually we haven’t fucked until my balls are screaming at me."
She giggled at him.
"I like it when you swear at me," she teased.
"Janet…"
He opened the bedroom door and stepped inside like a man walking to his doom.
"Surprise!" she shouted, as did all ten of the other members of the Pride.
He turned around and walked right back out.
A tiny hand caught his arm and Janet flung herself in his path.
"Just put on a shirt and come back," she begged. "Do you know how hard it was to get Dale and Stacey to come in through the window?"
"I am sore, shirtless, tired, and there is a mob of idiots in my bedroom," he pointed out.
"You sound like a crotchety old man," she accused.
"I am a crotchety old man, and you’ve just reminded me of that."
"Come on!" She looked up at him with pleading eyes that he couldn’t seem to deny whenever they were turned on him. "It’s our birthday!"
He fished his shirt out of the basket and threw it on, buttoning it, but not bothering to tuck it in.
"Janet, I think I preferred spending the day with sore balls," he said.
"You are never happy."
Victor almost flopped onto the couch, but decided against it and sat gingerly instead. Janet gave him a disappointed look.
"Baby, I’m sorry," he said, trying to rectify a situation he wasn’t entirely sure was all his fault.
She smiled at him and pulled him to his feet, leading him into the bedroom by one hand.
He could do this. He could put up with a crowd of people perched on his bed for a little while if it made Janet happy. This wasn’t so bad. This couldn’t be so bad. It’s just people he knows and a few he thinks are lower than whale shit and a couple he actually likes. This wasn’t so bad.
"You just keep telling yourself that," Alice Hayes hissed menacingly.
"What the hell is your problem?" he demanded.
"What?"
And she was all innocence.
He still wasn’t sure what he’d done to incur her wrath, but whatever it ws, it had to be bad. If it wasn’t, he had the feeling he could quite easily bring himself to pop her head off like his cousins used to pop the heads off of their sisters’ dolls.
Oh, that was a delicious thought. He actually felt the soreness go away, fueled by that image.
"Janet, baby," he murmured. "Why don’t we escort them out? The Victor-pony’s feeling better now."
She snickered and squeezed his hand.
"You’ll live."
Rating: R
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Victor and Janet Stein, The Pride, Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Summary: Janet has a surprise.
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
It was amazing to think that such a tiny woman could contain so much lust.
Victor actually found himself hiding in the garage, just so that he could breathe for a few minutes without being asked if his mouth couldn't be better occupied some other way.
He lit a cigarrette(one of many in his long line of ‘last’ smokes) and stepped out the side door. His back hit the wall and he sighed. He wasn’t walking right. That girl had done something to him.
"Victor!"
He jumped, ducked a little and looked around for the owner of the voice. Dale Yorkes was watching him over the fence.
"Shut up! She’ll hear you!" he hissed. "What do you want?"
He crept over to the fence with more than one glance over his very paranoid shoulder, and looked down at his neighbor.
"I thought you’d like to know that Janet is inside speaking to my wife," he said. "Please, God, if there is any mercy in your, er, personage, come get her before my wife dies of embarassment.
Victor looked him over. He was obviously deadly serious.
"Do you know what I’ve been doing today?" he asked.
"I don’t think I want to know," Dale replied.
"I have been having far more sex than any forty-one year old man should have and still be healthy," he informed his neighbor. "I am sore and old and tired and you want me to go get the wildcat that’s done this to me?"
"Yes."
Dale turned and walked back into his house, pausing at the door to state, very audibly, Victor’s location and actions.
"God damn," he muttered, blowing a smoke ring of frustration.
Janet stepped out of the house. He ducked and hoped she hadn’t seen him. There were some places man was not meant to be sore, and he was feeling it in one of them.
She made it to the fence in record time. She was far too short to see over it just by standing, so she solved this problem by gripping the top of the fence and pulling herself up, getting a good look at Victor crouching on the other side, cigarrette in hand.
"Victor," she said.
"Hello, my sweet," he squeaked.
She swung a leg up and caught it between two of the tines of the privacy fence. Victor thought for a moment that she was going to fall, and made a move to catch her, but instead, she hopped gracefully over the fence, landing next to him with a very annoyed look on her face.
"Victor, you promised," she said.
"I know."
"Victor."
He sighed and put the cigarrette out on the ground.
"I’ve been smoking for more than twenty years. I don’t see what the problem is," he said.
"The problem is that it smells bad and it causes health problems.
"Sweetheart, we’ve been married how long now? Four years? And you’ve never complained until now."
Janet glared at him. "Yes, well, I was an impressionable child, too," she snapped.
Victor sighed and gave up, knowing he was just going to lose this one. Still, he couldn’t resist one last jab.
"If you were such an impressionable child, why the hell did you marry me?"
He started toward the house, opening the door for her. She slapped his ass and preceded him into the living room.
They had been the talk of the neighborhood when they’d started dating. She was eighteen and he was twenty years older. She’d never had a problem, though, and he’d never really cared about what the neighbors thought. That is, until someone called the police on them, saying he was holding her under duress.
There is nothing like having the local police walk in whilst one is making love to one’s significant other.
"Victor!" she called. "You’re letting out all the cool air!"
He stepped inside and closed the door.
The couch was exactly four years and three months old. He had refused to even sit on the old one after the police incident.
"Baby, let’s not make love," he said, hopefully, noting her current occupation: rapidly unbuttoning her shirt.
"What?"
"Um, I’m kinda sore?" he offered tentatively.
"Take it like a man. If I’m not sore yet, there’s no reason you should be," she said.
"You try being my age," he mumbled.
"I heard that!"
"Good!"
Nevertheless. She was ready to go and he’d known what he was getting into when he’d started this whole fiasco.
"You sure you don’t want to go for a ride in the car instead?" he asked. Janet liked to drive and she liked to drive fast.
"I am sure. I’d rather go for a ride on the Victor-pony."
He dropped his shirt in a laundry basket. He wouldn’t be needing that anytime soon.
"How about dinner?"
"Victor, why are you so intent on talking me out of this?" she asked. "Usually you have absolutely no problem with it."
"Not to be crass, but usually we haven’t fucked until my balls are screaming at me."
She giggled at him.
"I like it when you swear at me," she teased.
"Janet…"
He opened the bedroom door and stepped inside like a man walking to his doom.
"Surprise!" she shouted, as did all ten of the other members of the Pride.
He turned around and walked right back out.
A tiny hand caught his arm and Janet flung herself in his path.
"Just put on a shirt and come back," she begged. "Do you know how hard it was to get Dale and Stacey to come in through the window?"
"I am sore, shirtless, tired, and there is a mob of idiots in my bedroom," he pointed out.
"You sound like a crotchety old man," she accused.
"I am a crotchety old man, and you’ve just reminded me of that."
"Come on!" She looked up at him with pleading eyes that he couldn’t seem to deny whenever they were turned on him. "It’s our birthday!"
He fished his shirt out of the basket and threw it on, buttoning it, but not bothering to tuck it in.
"Janet, I think I preferred spending the day with sore balls," he said.
"You are never happy."
Victor almost flopped onto the couch, but decided against it and sat gingerly instead. Janet gave him a disappointed look.
"Baby, I’m sorry," he said, trying to rectify a situation he wasn’t entirely sure was all his fault.
She smiled at him and pulled him to his feet, leading him into the bedroom by one hand.
He could do this. He could put up with a crowd of people perched on his bed for a little while if it made Janet happy. This wasn’t so bad. This couldn’t be so bad. It’s just people he knows and a few he thinks are lower than whale shit and a couple he actually likes. This wasn’t so bad.
"You just keep telling yourself that," Alice Hayes hissed menacingly.
"What the hell is your problem?" he demanded.
"What?"
And she was all innocence.
He still wasn’t sure what he’d done to incur her wrath, but whatever it ws, it had to be bad. If it wasn’t, he had the feeling he could quite easily bring himself to pop her head off like his cousins used to pop the heads off of their sisters’ dolls.
Oh, that was a delicious thought. He actually felt the soreness go away, fueled by that image.
"Janet, baby," he murmured. "Why don’t we escort them out? The Victor-pony’s feeling better now."
She snickered and squeezed his hand.
"You’ll live."