Watermelon 9, Cantaloupe 27, Rocky Road 5
Title: Waking Up to Us (PR Nightmare Remix)
Story Continuity: The Lethean Glamour extra
Prompts: Watermelon #9: slip of the tongue, Cantaloupe #27: throw the book, Rocky Road #5: bedroom
Word count: 710
Rating: R (for more than a little suggestiveness and some language)
Summary: 12 years pre-story. Cygnelius is 18, Valentio is 22. How Valentio ended up in Cygnelius's bed instead of his own, and the morning after. Not what the summary, rating, and title would have you think, and a sorta-experiment.
Note: Dr. Stowe and Dr. Hansen are the past-middle-aged doctors who evaluated Cygnelius's mental condition. Also, I think this is my last Watermelon.
When Valentio awoke, it was to much protest on the part of whatever was left of the inside of his skull. That was all he was aware of for about ten minutes, before the sun rose and light also entered into the equation and he became aware that his skull was staging a coup, and that there appeared to be some mutual snuggling going on between his body and someone else's, very likely to be male, or otherwise in possession of male parts. Valentio moved his hand a little and traced the line of the other's hip; no, definitely male. Well, he'd always suspected this might be more the province of, say, Lysandro, but sure, why not. Hell, maybe it ran in the family, or something. Incest, arrogance, and homosexuality. There were worse genetic combinations. Probably.
And suddenly Valentio was quite sure he didn't want to open his eyes.
The other made a strange, strangled noise that may have been a moan and may have been a curse, but definitely did not belong to Lysandro, because Lysandro's voice was deeper and more refined even when intoxicated.
The bad news was that there was no good news, it seemed. And Valentio needed water, needed it now. What else could he do?
So he tapped the other occupant hard. With his entire hand. Not like he probably didn't the night before, he thought with resignation.
"Ow - fuck!" The bed's other occupant said. "What - Valentio?"
"Go get me some water," Valentio said. "And roll over, you're hogging all the covers."
"Wh-" Cygnelius said, and rubbed his eyes. "Get the hell out of my bed. Why are you even in here? And note the...the, uh...the possessive. Because this is my bed."
"Actually, it's mine," Valentio said. "Quid pro quo, or something to do with rulers and surveys."
"Yeah, that's the gods," Cygnelius said. "Right now, exit my bed. I have this handy heavy bedside item, and I have the strength to use it."
"You're honestly going to throw me out of bed with...A Compendium of Mental Illnesses, Volume Three? Doesn't that look like it could, uh, break a guy's skull?"
"I'm more worried about it not penetrating your skull, actually," Cygnelius said mildly. "Get out of my bed, I don't want to be your newest mistress."
And, because he was still a little drunk, Valentio said, "I think I licked whipped cream off of Capricia's breasts."
"Get out!" Cygnelius groaned, and buried his head under his pillows. Valentio, unfortunately, took this the wrong way. "You know, I kind of really think I did. Slip of the tongue, like. Slipped out of its own accord, anyway. Is that what that phrase means? Maybe Capricia won't murder me if it's, like, a condition."
"If Seven won't kill you, it'll be my hand on the hilt. I can and will fire you for this," Cygnelius said, head emerging from his pillowy haven, "or at least sue for willful and malicious bothering, if you don't leave right now."
"And that's a law, is it?" It was more of a question than if it were any later in the day.
"I can alter the rules. The scientific R&D department operates almost entirely thanks to me," Cygnelius said. "And now I'm awake. God, why are you even here?"
"I think...this was the closest to my bed. Maybe. Get me some water?" Valentio said, and began to sit up before flopping back onto the bed. "Hurts to move."
"Why does it not surprise me that it somehow doesn't hurt you to talk?"
"You're the boy genius, you tell me," Valentio said, and closed his eyes and looked very much the martyred saint. Cygnelius sighed, rolled out of bed and located his glasses, then said, "I'm going to go test my theory on catatonic mortification somewhere safer. When I'm done, I'll get your damn water," and lurched out of his room.
But all Valentio heard was the latter part of Cygnelius's sentence, and so languished miserably for hydration until he fell asleep again and the hot water Cygnelius acquired for him was merely warm.
And when he woke again, his garbled recollection of the night before was definitely not worth the memory of what Dr. Stowe had done with Dr. Hansen.
Story Continuity: The Lethean Glamour extra
Prompts: Watermelon #9: slip of the tongue, Cantaloupe #27: throw the book, Rocky Road #5: bedroom
Word count: 710
Rating: R (for more than a little suggestiveness and some language)
Summary: 12 years pre-story. Cygnelius is 18, Valentio is 22. How Valentio ended up in Cygnelius's bed instead of his own, and the morning after. Not what the summary, rating, and title would have you think, and a sorta-experiment.
Note: Dr. Stowe and Dr. Hansen are the past-middle-aged doctors who evaluated Cygnelius's mental condition. Also, I think this is my last Watermelon.
When Valentio awoke, it was to much protest on the part of whatever was left of the inside of his skull. That was all he was aware of for about ten minutes, before the sun rose and light also entered into the equation and he became aware that his skull was staging a coup, and that there appeared to be some mutual snuggling going on between his body and someone else's, very likely to be male, or otherwise in possession of male parts. Valentio moved his hand a little and traced the line of the other's hip; no, definitely male. Well, he'd always suspected this might be more the province of, say, Lysandro, but sure, why not. Hell, maybe it ran in the family, or something. Incest, arrogance, and homosexuality. There were worse genetic combinations. Probably.
And suddenly Valentio was quite sure he didn't want to open his eyes.
The other made a strange, strangled noise that may have been a moan and may have been a curse, but definitely did not belong to Lysandro, because Lysandro's voice was deeper and more refined even when intoxicated.
The bad news was that there was no good news, it seemed. And Valentio needed water, needed it now. What else could he do?
So he tapped the other occupant hard. With his entire hand. Not like he probably didn't the night before, he thought with resignation.
"Ow - fuck!" The bed's other occupant said. "What - Valentio?"
"Go get me some water," Valentio said. "And roll over, you're hogging all the covers."
"Wh-" Cygnelius said, and rubbed his eyes. "Get the hell out of my bed. Why are you even in here? And note the...the, uh...the possessive. Because this is my bed."
"Actually, it's mine," Valentio said. "Quid pro quo, or something to do with rulers and surveys."
"Yeah, that's the gods," Cygnelius said. "Right now, exit my bed. I have this handy heavy bedside item, and I have the strength to use it."
"You're honestly going to throw me out of bed with...A Compendium of Mental Illnesses, Volume Three? Doesn't that look like it could, uh, break a guy's skull?"
"I'm more worried about it not penetrating your skull, actually," Cygnelius said mildly. "Get out of my bed, I don't want to be your newest mistress."
And, because he was still a little drunk, Valentio said, "I think I licked whipped cream off of Capricia's breasts."
"Get out!" Cygnelius groaned, and buried his head under his pillows. Valentio, unfortunately, took this the wrong way. "You know, I kind of really think I did. Slip of the tongue, like. Slipped out of its own accord, anyway. Is that what that phrase means? Maybe Capricia won't murder me if it's, like, a condition."
"If Seven won't kill you, it'll be my hand on the hilt. I can and will fire you for this," Cygnelius said, head emerging from his pillowy haven, "or at least sue for willful and malicious bothering, if you don't leave right now."
"And that's a law, is it?" It was more of a question than if it were any later in the day.
"I can alter the rules. The scientific R&D department operates almost entirely thanks to me," Cygnelius said. "And now I'm awake. God, why are you even here?"
"I think...this was the closest to my bed. Maybe. Get me some water?" Valentio said, and began to sit up before flopping back onto the bed. "Hurts to move."
"Why does it not surprise me that it somehow doesn't hurt you to talk?"
"You're the boy genius, you tell me," Valentio said, and closed his eyes and looked very much the martyred saint. Cygnelius sighed, rolled out of bed and located his glasses, then said, "I'm going to go test my theory on catatonic mortification somewhere safer. When I'm done, I'll get your damn water," and lurched out of his room.
But all Valentio heard was the latter part of Cygnelius's sentence, and so languished miserably for hydration until he fell asleep again and the hot water Cygnelius acquired for him was merely warm.
And when he woke again, his garbled recollection of the night before was definitely not worth the memory of what Dr. Stowe had done with Dr. Hansen.