Birthday ficlet!
Nos, I don't know how I missed this - in fact I'm sure I got the announcement and just completely blipped on it. Nonetheless, I present for your enjoyment a vaguely cracktastic (and thus far untitled) ficlet from the GTO 'verse, whipped up at my desk while I was supposed to be doing something else entirely. I can't vouch for the quality, but I offer it up with my love.
“So who’s this Nos?”
Ray squinted over my shoulder.
“Just a friend.” I tapped my pen on the tabletop while I considered what else to write besides, Dear Nos, I wish I were there to celebrate with you. “Where are your glasses?”
“On the nightstand, I think,” he said absently. “A girl just-a-friend or a guy just-a-friend?” He flipped the card over to the front. There were no clues hidden in the cartoon of Shoebox Edna telling a dirty joke.
I looked up at him. “Does it matter?”
He was focused on a spot somewhere over the top of my head. “No.”
“You know you’re a shitty liar, right? I don’t know how you do undercover.” Which of course, I’m also a liar, because he was good enough that I was in Chicago every second or third weekend for months before I found out about Ray Vecchio. The actual Ray Vecchio, I mean.
“I was just asking, okay? Jeez, don’t make a thing out of it.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.
“I’m not. You’re the one who was reading my card.”
“Well, excuse me for living in my own apartment.”
Oh, fuck that noise. “If you must know, Nos is a woman I occasionally meet up with to write internet porn. Gay internet porn. Slash, if you want to be precise.”
Ray’s eyes went wide, and he licked his lips. “What, like girl-on-girl?”
“No. That would be femme-slash. We like to write about boys.”
“You’re shittin’ me, right? I mean … you don’t really …” He was cute when he was coming unhinged. “I mean, how do you know what to …”
“Well … I know what you like, right?” He nodded. “So, I kind of, um, extrapolate.”
I could hear the wheels turning. “So when we … and then you and her … Oh my God! You write about what we do? And let other people read it?”
“Don’t stroke out, Ray, it’s not like I’m writing about you and … Dewey. Or whoever.”
Ray leaned over with his hands on his legs and his head down. I might feel faint, too, if somebody mentioned me and Tom Dewey in the same breath.
I got up and filled a glass of water from the tap. “Here, drink this.”
I waited until he took a couple of swallows. “It’s just make-believe, okay? We use characters from TV shows and movies, and we write stories for our friends. Nobody knows any of it’s real.” I mentally crossed my fingers and resolved that he’d never find out about the time Nos and I got hammered on pomegranate martinis and I told her what happened after he got back from the Pirelli bust (we were lucky that gun wasn’t loaded).
Ray’s color was a little better. I took the glass away from him and set it on the counter. “Listen,” I said, putting my arms around him, “Go watch the game for a while. As soon as I finishing writing this card we can go out and do something, okay?”
“Can we stay in and do something?” He gave me that look, the one that always makes my heart beat a little faster. “But you gotta promise me you won’t write about it.”
“Okay. I promise.” I gave him a quick kiss and copped a feel when he turned to go find the remote.
Dear Nos,
I wish I were there to celebrate with you. I quit marking my birthdays a while ago, but at 25 they’re still a good excuse for a party.
I hope you can make it to con.txt this year. I think we might be asked to read a story at one of the panels. By the way, it may be a while before I can finish that WIP - I’m having some issues with source material. I’m sure it’ll work out eventually.
Happy Birthday, Nos, and best wishes for many more!
Love,
HS
“So who’s this Nos?”
Ray squinted over my shoulder.
“Just a friend.” I tapped my pen on the tabletop while I considered what else to write besides, Dear Nos, I wish I were there to celebrate with you. “Where are your glasses?”
“On the nightstand, I think,” he said absently. “A girl just-a-friend or a guy just-a-friend?” He flipped the card over to the front. There were no clues hidden in the cartoon of Shoebox Edna telling a dirty joke.
I looked up at him. “Does it matter?”
He was focused on a spot somewhere over the top of my head. “No.”
“You know you’re a shitty liar, right? I don’t know how you do undercover.” Which of course, I’m also a liar, because he was good enough that I was in Chicago every second or third weekend for months before I found out about Ray Vecchio. The actual Ray Vecchio, I mean.
“I was just asking, okay? Jeez, don’t make a thing out of it.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.
“I’m not. You’re the one who was reading my card.”
“Well, excuse me for living in my own apartment.”
Oh, fuck that noise. “If you must know, Nos is a woman I occasionally meet up with to write internet porn. Gay internet porn. Slash, if you want to be precise.”
Ray’s eyes went wide, and he licked his lips. “What, like girl-on-girl?”
“No. That would be femme-slash. We like to write about boys.”
“You’re shittin’ me, right? I mean … you don’t really …” He was cute when he was coming unhinged. “I mean, how do you know what to …”
“Well … I know what you like, right?” He nodded. “So, I kind of, um, extrapolate.”
I could hear the wheels turning. “So when we … and then you and her … Oh my God! You write about what we do? And let other people read it?”
“Don’t stroke out, Ray, it’s not like I’m writing about you and … Dewey. Or whoever.”
Ray leaned over with his hands on his legs and his head down. I might feel faint, too, if somebody mentioned me and Tom Dewey in the same breath.
I got up and filled a glass of water from the tap. “Here, drink this.”
I waited until he took a couple of swallows. “It’s just make-believe, okay? We use characters from TV shows and movies, and we write stories for our friends. Nobody knows any of it’s real.” I mentally crossed my fingers and resolved that he’d never find out about the time Nos and I got hammered on pomegranate martinis and I told her what happened after he got back from the Pirelli bust (we were lucky that gun wasn’t loaded).
Ray’s color was a little better. I took the glass away from him and set it on the counter. “Listen,” I said, putting my arms around him, “Go watch the game for a while. As soon as I finishing writing this card we can go out and do something, okay?”
“Can we stay in and do something?” He gave me that look, the one that always makes my heart beat a little faster. “But you gotta promise me you won’t write about it.”
“Okay. I promise.” I gave him a quick kiss and copped a feel when he turned to go find the remote.
Dear Nos,
I wish I were there to celebrate with you. I quit marking my birthdays a while ago, but at 25 they’re still a good excuse for a party.
I hope you can make it to con.txt this year. I think we might be asked to read a story at one of the panels. By the way, it may be a while before I can finish that WIP - I’m having some issues with source material. I’m sure it’ll work out eventually.
Happy Birthday, Nos, and best wishes for many more!
Love,
HS