Live Free or Die Hard Fanfic -- "SwelterFest 2007"
Title: SwelterFest 2007
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Characters: John/Matt pre-slash, Lucy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 596
Summary: The super's been promising to stop by ever since Day Two of SwelterFest, and they're currently on Day Seven. Of New York's most intense heat wave since, oh, ever.
Notes: Written for tamingthemuse for the prompt "non-sequitur". I really struggled with this prompt. Ugh.
SwelterFest 2007
by Severina
"Ugh, is the air conditioner broken again?" Lucy moans as soon as she walks in the door.
"Hi, honey. Nice to see you, too."
Lucy rolls her eyes. "Hey, Dad. The one really good thing about getting invited over here for dinner is the air conditioning. Please please please tell me it's not conked out."
"It's conked out."
"But," Matt puts in, "thanks for the compliments on our scintillating conversational skills. Not to mention the cooking."
Lucy ignores him, as usual, flopping down on the sofa with a sigh and lifting her long, damp hair off her neck. "I should get a haircut."
She's got a point. When they hit Day Four of SwelterFest 2007, Matt starting seriously considering heading down to the barber that John frequents himself, going for a buzz cut. The only thing that's stopped him so far is that his hair is the one feature that he actually likes. His arms are scrawny and he's got chicken thighs and he can't grow a beard to save his life, but his hair is actually pretty nice. Kinda full and soft, even though it never does what he wants it to do, despite his best efforts. Not that he owns any hair product. That he'll admit to.
"The super's gonna stop by when he gets a chance," John says, sitting down beside her. "You bring your receipts?"
Matt muffles a snort. The super's been promising to stop by ever since Day Two of SwelterFest, and they're currently on Day Seven. Of New York's most intense heat wave since, oh, ever. But yeah. He'll stop by. Uh huh.
"Yeah," Lucy says. She pulls her bag toward her, digs inside the mess. "I don't know why you insist on doing my taxes every year, Dad."
"I got an accountant."
"Exactly. Who charges you money to do this. I could bring everything down to the student union, they've got volunteers set up-"
"Volunteers who don't know shit," John cuts in. "Besides, you don't need some stranger knowing your business. Hand 'em over."
Lucy slaps an envelope bulging with paperwork into his outstretched hand before settling back on the sofa. She closes her eyes, reaches out blindly to pick up an old Chinese restaurant menu from the end table to fan herself. Matt could tell her not to waste her time - all that does is make you feel like you're standing next to a hair dryer. But he stopped complaining about the heat and humidity and feeling sticky all the damn time and that gross feeling of damp hair hanging limply on his neck right around the fifth or sixth time that John gave him the slow-blink-with-lips-pressed-together look. He knows not to press his luck when he gets that look.
John opens the flap, bends his head to take a cursory look inside. "You sure this is all of it?"
Matt watches a single drop of sweat make its way sluggishly down John's scalp.
If there's been any advantage to SwelterFest 2007, it's that John is really, really sexy when he's stuck without air conditioning. The T-shirts that he favours when he's hanging around the apartment cling to that barrel chest. His arms glisten. And his scalp… Matt blinks, licks his lips as his eyes follow the course of that leisurely moving droplet.
"Bald is sexy," Matt murmurs. He doesn't realize he's actually spoken out loud until both John and Lucy swivel their heads toward him in perfect slow-motion synchronicity.
"Um," he says.
Lucy arches a brow.
"I mean."
John cocks his head.
"Kill me," Matt whimpers.
.
Fandom: Live Free or Die Hard
Characters: John/Matt pre-slash, Lucy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 596
Summary: The super's been promising to stop by ever since Day Two of SwelterFest, and they're currently on Day Seven. Of New York's most intense heat wave since, oh, ever.
Notes: Written for tamingthemuse for the prompt "non-sequitur". I really struggled with this prompt. Ugh.
SwelterFest 2007
by Severina
"Ugh, is the air conditioner broken again?" Lucy moans as soon as she walks in the door.
"Hi, honey. Nice to see you, too."
Lucy rolls her eyes. "Hey, Dad. The one really good thing about getting invited over here for dinner is the air conditioning. Please please please tell me it's not conked out."
"It's conked out."
"But," Matt puts in, "thanks for the compliments on our scintillating conversational skills. Not to mention the cooking."
Lucy ignores him, as usual, flopping down on the sofa with a sigh and lifting her long, damp hair off her neck. "I should get a haircut."
She's got a point. When they hit Day Four of SwelterFest 2007, Matt starting seriously considering heading down to the barber that John frequents himself, going for a buzz cut. The only thing that's stopped him so far is that his hair is the one feature that he actually likes. His arms are scrawny and he's got chicken thighs and he can't grow a beard to save his life, but his hair is actually pretty nice. Kinda full and soft, even though it never does what he wants it to do, despite his best efforts. Not that he owns any hair product. That he'll admit to.
"The super's gonna stop by when he gets a chance," John says, sitting down beside her. "You bring your receipts?"
Matt muffles a snort. The super's been promising to stop by ever since Day Two of SwelterFest, and they're currently on Day Seven. Of New York's most intense heat wave since, oh, ever. But yeah. He'll stop by. Uh huh.
"Yeah," Lucy says. She pulls her bag toward her, digs inside the mess. "I don't know why you insist on doing my taxes every year, Dad."
"I got an accountant."
"Exactly. Who charges you money to do this. I could bring everything down to the student union, they've got volunteers set up-"
"Volunteers who don't know shit," John cuts in. "Besides, you don't need some stranger knowing your business. Hand 'em over."
Lucy slaps an envelope bulging with paperwork into his outstretched hand before settling back on the sofa. She closes her eyes, reaches out blindly to pick up an old Chinese restaurant menu from the end table to fan herself. Matt could tell her not to waste her time - all that does is make you feel like you're standing next to a hair dryer. But he stopped complaining about the heat and humidity and feeling sticky all the damn time and that gross feeling of damp hair hanging limply on his neck right around the fifth or sixth time that John gave him the slow-blink-with-lips-pressed-together look. He knows not to press his luck when he gets that look.
John opens the flap, bends his head to take a cursory look inside. "You sure this is all of it?"
Matt watches a single drop of sweat make its way sluggishly down John's scalp.
If there's been any advantage to SwelterFest 2007, it's that John is really, really sexy when he's stuck without air conditioning. The T-shirts that he favours when he's hanging around the apartment cling to that barrel chest. His arms glisten. And his scalp… Matt blinks, licks his lips as his eyes follow the course of that leisurely moving droplet.
"Bald is sexy," Matt murmurs. He doesn't realize he's actually spoken out loud until both John and Lucy swivel their heads toward him in perfect slow-motion synchronicity.
"Um," he says.
Lucy arches a brow.
"I mean."
John cocks his head.
"Kill me," Matt whimpers.
.