Captain Scarlet. Ochre/Magenta. Misc A. 05. Passion
TITLE: Get a room
AUTHOR: Sage Harper
FANDOM: Captain Scarlet
PAIRING: Ochre/Magenta
GENRE: Slash
TABLE: Miscellaneous A
PROMPT: 05. Passion
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 1, 371
SUMMARY: “People, with the notable exception of you, as a rule want to watch a damn movie rather than me doing the nasty in the back row.”
WARNINGS: n/a
NOTES:
DISCLAIMER: Characters created by Gerry & Sylvia Anderson - just borrowing and will put them back when I'm finished.
I’m pretty sure Pat should come with a health warning. Actually there should be special comprehensive manuals, in all major languages, sold wherever good books are sold, about what the hell you’re supposed to do when you find your non-platonic feelings reciprocated by said individual.
It was Pat’s idea to come see this movie. There are four things in life that will keep him talking for hours and up all night of his own free will; movies, computers, food, sex; probably not in that order. This movie has CGI, I always get a huge carton of popcorn, and obviously everyone who’s been in school beyond sixth grade knows a dark auditorium is good place to fool around. So he’s in his element. And doing the ‘hands brushing in the carton as you both grab popcorn’ thing; it’s deliberate and excessive so I pull the box from between us and dump it on the floor by my feet, because actually I would like to be able to eat some myself seeing as I bought it.
He looks round at me, demanding an explanation and moderately disappointed.
“You hate toffee popcorn,” I remind him, “it makes you paranoid that it’s stuck to your teeth.”
Pat has very nice teeth for an ex-smoker (his mom was, probably still is, hot on oral hygiene); they flash a little as he smiles at me, then he settles back again to watch the movie.
I go to take his hand; because actually sometimes it is real nice just to hold hands in the dark with someone you like, and I don’t want him thinking I’m mad over the popcorn. But by then his hand isn’t on the arm rest or anywhere a reasonable person would expect an equally reasonable person to rest it. No he’s trailing it up the inside of my thigh.
I take it anyway, grab some more popcorn, keep watching the movie. Even though I lost the plot of it a while back, but that’s more the fact it has subtitles and a zillion characters than anything.
“You’re not being very perceptive, are you?”
He called his mom, just before we left for the movie. I can tell because it makes his accent, which has always been a weird hybrid, more pronouncedly Irish. It makes me shiver a little; the intimacy of a whisper, and the warm smooth voice. I’m a sucker for sexy accents.
“I know exactly what you’re playing at.” I tell him, smarting a little that he’d think otherwise. “I’m just not playing too; this isn’t the time or place.”
He stares at me, surprised, on the brink of laughing; “Well that’s going on this list.”
“What list?”
“In case you didn’t notice this either; you are the Martini of fuck buddies. When, in the last however long we’ve been here, have you ever passed on a legitimate chance of getting laid?”
“I’ve never gone past first base at the movies; it’s disgusting, tacky, and inconsiderate. People, with the notable exception of you, as a rule want to watch a damn movie rather than me doing the nasty in the back row.”
He smirks; “I know.”
“You’re missing my point.”
He shakes his head, reaches over and starts working his thumb massaging my neck at the point which drives me crazy. It does make me feel better, and I relax a little, so I don’t make him stop.
“I don’t want us to be fuck buddies any more.”
He stops then.
“Wait,” he begins, “just so we’re clear. Why exactly are you breaking up with me?”
“I’m not.”
But the thought of it wraps a coil of panic inside me. For a moment I want to get out of here, into the light and open spaces, to where it’s safe. But I couldn’t bear to leave Pat. Besides I’m so damn tired of running away, hiding and backtracking with stupid jokes.
“Pat; I don’t think you’re really one to complain about me not being perceptive,” I begin. “Because we’re best friends, we sleep together, without question pair up for any function. You took me home to your parents, hell you came to the cemetery to see my parents. We haven’t screwed, dated, or otherwise been involved with anyone else in the last six months, which isn’t because we haven’t had a better offer. And that’s not going to change for the foreseeable future. And you still say we’re fuck buddies.” I look him in the eye. “That is not what fuck buddies do. That’s an actual relationship. The kind that starts with breakfast in bed and non-ironic use of pet names, then evolves into hosting dinner parties and spending our weekends shopping at Ikea.”
Maybe I should have stopped there, a part of me wanted to, but I couldn’t …
“For better or worse you are my boyfriend, and I like that, and I hope you do too. But if you do have a problem with it then you better get out now.” I wait a beat, he doesn’t move. “Because I’m in love with you.”
There’s a horrible heavy icy silence, even though the movie is still playing loud as ever. I look at him but he doesn’t give anything away, so I wait, trying to imagine and brace myself for his reaction.
“I know.”
That wasn’t one of the things I’d expected.
He shrugs; “It’s just I have this annoying habit of taking charge of stuff. And that wouldn’t be fair over this. I figured it was one of those things you needed to figure out for yourself, and not after the fact because I said it and you went along to keep me happy.”
“So, basically, I just spent the last few weeks thinking it over, trying to find the right moment to tell you, stressing over your reaction and whatever the hell else. And it was all totally pointless because you’d already decided.”
“Uh, I guess, you could see it that way.”
“Well thanks a lot, asshole.”
We sit and watch the movie some more; but then I give up because I truly have no idea what’s going on. Aside from the fact the guy and chick I thought were siblings are now having sex, so that shows how much I know. Or maybe they are siblings; I mean it is an art film.
I give Pat the rest of the popcorn, because I don’t really want it any more, not all to myself anyway.
“They are brother and sister aren’t they?”
He nods.
“So then why are they getting it on?”
“It’s the point of the film, to explore and challenge society’s confines of modern relationships.” Then he flounders, shrugs. “Beyond that sound bite from the New York Times film review I haven’t a clue.”
I’m not going to say how happy and fond of Pat it made me that he could admit to being baffled in area of his expertise, or that we could for once agree about an art house movie, and for once I didn’t feel like the dumb ass out of step with everyone else. Because it’s pretty embarrassing.
So instead I say; “I’m not really mad at you.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know. You don’t know, not all the time.”
“OK, I am aware that I love you too.”
“So you should be, I’m a very lovable person. And I don’t see anyone else making you a better offer.”
He’s not quite sure how to respond to that, which makes me smile. So I kiss him, and I don’t care if anyone sees or what they think. Because there’s no one in the world but us.
“Pat,” I lift my head from his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“Why are we watching a movie neither of us understands, let alone enjoys?”
“You’re right, it’s stupid.” He shakes the popcorn carton but it’s practically empty. “Let’s go.”
My other habit going to base movie nights is always getting an aisle seat. I hate having to sit next to people, unless I invited them too. And it makes for easier get aways.
“Rick,” he says, dumping the carton in the trash can on our way out.
“Yeah.”
“Does this mean we’re gonna have sex now?”
AUTHOR: Sage Harper
FANDOM: Captain Scarlet
PAIRING: Ochre/Magenta
GENRE: Slash
TABLE: Miscellaneous A
PROMPT: 05. Passion
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 1, 371
SUMMARY: “People, with the notable exception of you, as a rule want to watch a damn movie rather than me doing the nasty in the back row.”
WARNINGS: n/a
NOTES:
DISCLAIMER: Characters created by Gerry & Sylvia Anderson - just borrowing and will put them back when I'm finished.
I’m pretty sure Pat should come with a health warning. Actually there should be special comprehensive manuals, in all major languages, sold wherever good books are sold, about what the hell you’re supposed to do when you find your non-platonic feelings reciprocated by said individual.
It was Pat’s idea to come see this movie. There are four things in life that will keep him talking for hours and up all night of his own free will; movies, computers, food, sex; probably not in that order. This movie has CGI, I always get a huge carton of popcorn, and obviously everyone who’s been in school beyond sixth grade knows a dark auditorium is good place to fool around. So he’s in his element. And doing the ‘hands brushing in the carton as you both grab popcorn’ thing; it’s deliberate and excessive so I pull the box from between us and dump it on the floor by my feet, because actually I would like to be able to eat some myself seeing as I bought it.
He looks round at me, demanding an explanation and moderately disappointed.
“You hate toffee popcorn,” I remind him, “it makes you paranoid that it’s stuck to your teeth.”
Pat has very nice teeth for an ex-smoker (his mom was, probably still is, hot on oral hygiene); they flash a little as he smiles at me, then he settles back again to watch the movie.
I go to take his hand; because actually sometimes it is real nice just to hold hands in the dark with someone you like, and I don’t want him thinking I’m mad over the popcorn. But by then his hand isn’t on the arm rest or anywhere a reasonable person would expect an equally reasonable person to rest it. No he’s trailing it up the inside of my thigh.
I take it anyway, grab some more popcorn, keep watching the movie. Even though I lost the plot of it a while back, but that’s more the fact it has subtitles and a zillion characters than anything.
“You’re not being very perceptive, are you?”
He called his mom, just before we left for the movie. I can tell because it makes his accent, which has always been a weird hybrid, more pronouncedly Irish. It makes me shiver a little; the intimacy of a whisper, and the warm smooth voice. I’m a sucker for sexy accents.
“I know exactly what you’re playing at.” I tell him, smarting a little that he’d think otherwise. “I’m just not playing too; this isn’t the time or place.”
He stares at me, surprised, on the brink of laughing; “Well that’s going on this list.”
“What list?”
“In case you didn’t notice this either; you are the Martini of fuck buddies. When, in the last however long we’ve been here, have you ever passed on a legitimate chance of getting laid?”
“I’ve never gone past first base at the movies; it’s disgusting, tacky, and inconsiderate. People, with the notable exception of you, as a rule want to watch a damn movie rather than me doing the nasty in the back row.”
He smirks; “I know.”
“You’re missing my point.”
He shakes his head, reaches over and starts working his thumb massaging my neck at the point which drives me crazy. It does make me feel better, and I relax a little, so I don’t make him stop.
“I don’t want us to be fuck buddies any more.”
He stops then.
“Wait,” he begins, “just so we’re clear. Why exactly are you breaking up with me?”
“I’m not.”
But the thought of it wraps a coil of panic inside me. For a moment I want to get out of here, into the light and open spaces, to where it’s safe. But I couldn’t bear to leave Pat. Besides I’m so damn tired of running away, hiding and backtracking with stupid jokes.
“Pat; I don’t think you’re really one to complain about me not being perceptive,” I begin. “Because we’re best friends, we sleep together, without question pair up for any function. You took me home to your parents, hell you came to the cemetery to see my parents. We haven’t screwed, dated, or otherwise been involved with anyone else in the last six months, which isn’t because we haven’t had a better offer. And that’s not going to change for the foreseeable future. And you still say we’re fuck buddies.” I look him in the eye. “That is not what fuck buddies do. That’s an actual relationship. The kind that starts with breakfast in bed and non-ironic use of pet names, then evolves into hosting dinner parties and spending our weekends shopping at Ikea.”
Maybe I should have stopped there, a part of me wanted to, but I couldn’t …
“For better or worse you are my boyfriend, and I like that, and I hope you do too. But if you do have a problem with it then you better get out now.” I wait a beat, he doesn’t move. “Because I’m in love with you.”
There’s a horrible heavy icy silence, even though the movie is still playing loud as ever. I look at him but he doesn’t give anything away, so I wait, trying to imagine and brace myself for his reaction.
“I know.”
That wasn’t one of the things I’d expected.
He shrugs; “It’s just I have this annoying habit of taking charge of stuff. And that wouldn’t be fair over this. I figured it was one of those things you needed to figure out for yourself, and not after the fact because I said it and you went along to keep me happy.”
“So, basically, I just spent the last few weeks thinking it over, trying to find the right moment to tell you, stressing over your reaction and whatever the hell else. And it was all totally pointless because you’d already decided.”
“Uh, I guess, you could see it that way.”
“Well thanks a lot, asshole.”
We sit and watch the movie some more; but then I give up because I truly have no idea what’s going on. Aside from the fact the guy and chick I thought were siblings are now having sex, so that shows how much I know. Or maybe they are siblings; I mean it is an art film.
I give Pat the rest of the popcorn, because I don’t really want it any more, not all to myself anyway.
“They are brother and sister aren’t they?”
He nods.
“So then why are they getting it on?”
“It’s the point of the film, to explore and challenge society’s confines of modern relationships.” Then he flounders, shrugs. “Beyond that sound bite from the New York Times film review I haven’t a clue.”
I’m not going to say how happy and fond of Pat it made me that he could admit to being baffled in area of his expertise, or that we could for once agree about an art house movie, and for once I didn’t feel like the dumb ass out of step with everyone else. Because it’s pretty embarrassing.
So instead I say; “I’m not really mad at you.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know. You don’t know, not all the time.”
“OK, I am aware that I love you too.”
“So you should be, I’m a very lovable person. And I don’t see anyone else making you a better offer.”
He’s not quite sure how to respond to that, which makes me smile. So I kiss him, and I don’t care if anyone sees or what they think. Because there’s no one in the world but us.
“Pat,” I lift my head from his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“Why are we watching a movie neither of us understands, let alone enjoys?”
“You’re right, it’s stupid.” He shakes the popcorn carton but it’s practically empty. “Let’s go.”
My other habit going to base movie nights is always getting an aisle seat. I hate having to sit next to people, unless I invited them too. And it makes for easier get aways.
“Rick,” he says, dumping the carton in the trash can on our way out.
“Yeah.”
“Does this mean we’re gonna have sex now?”