"A Big Enough Lever" (1/1)
A response to prompt #159, and also to escritoireazul's The Cause Of Trouble, which you should totally read.
A Big Enough Lever
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: Lilo & Stitch
Pairing: Myrtle/Lilo
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 500
Notes: Set ten years after the movie. Previous installments in this 'verse chill here.
Summary: On the road to Waimea. For prompt #159, “drive”.
They've barely gotten on the highway and Myrtle is already regretting letting Lilo drive.
“You're almost seventeen, and relatively free of developmental disabilities.” Myrtle's tone implies that she expects to be proven wrong about that at any second. “Why are you so bad at this?”
Lilo's glaring daggers at the steering wheel, on which she has a white-knuckled death-grip. In the wrong places, no less. “Because your car is ridiculous.”
“My car is not ridiculous, you're--what did I say about spaghetti-arms?! Ten and two! Ten and two! And stop strangling the wheel!”
Lilo obeys with gritted teeth and Myrtle tries to wrestle her admittedly martial manner into something more patient. “You need to focus, or you'll be a sloppy, dangerous driver. If you even manage to get your license, that is.”
“You sound just like Nani.”
“You mean Nani, who has her drivers license, like I have mine?”
If Lilo grits her teeth any more the enamel will crack.
For a few silent minutes, the mood in the PT Cruiser is tense: they're both frustrated, and Myrtle's pretty sure alienating Lilo twenty minutes into their second date is not the way to ensure a third.
“Maybe--” she searches for something, anything, but she's never had to be conciliatory before. “Maybe if you eased up on the gas and avoided third gear altogether--”
“Yeah, and maybe I'm just not the kinda girl who should drive stick,” Lilo snaps.
They're nearly a silent quarter-mile down the highway before Myrtle can no longer fight off the giggles. In a few seconds, she's laughing so hard her face is burning and red.
“What?” Lilo demands tightly, and a quick glance at the rearview mirror shows the tense confusion on her face suddenly being replaced by realization, and dignified annoyance. “Sheesh, you know what I meant, Myrtle.”
And Myrtle's off to the races again, taking her glasses off before they fall off.
Lilo jerkily pulls the Cruiser over on the road shoulder and puts it into park.
Turns the ignition off.
Myrtle's laughter tapers, dries up completely as Lilo--who probably is lolo enough to walk all the way back to town--unbuckles her seatbelt. “Okay, I didn't mean to laugh, but that was pretty funny--um, hi,” she adds, because instead of getting out, Lilo's gotten much closer.
“Hiya, Myrtle,” she whispers, and the distance between closes them until Lilo's black eyes are actually dark brown; till their lips touch tentatively, then more certainly.
“So.” Lilo's voice is uneven in a way that Myrtle likes almost as much as she liked the kiss. “Third gear . . . bad?”
“Very.” Kiss. “And drive slower.”
“I'll go.” Kiss. “As slow.” Kiss. “As you want.” Another kiss--this one with less talking and more tongue.
Reeling pleasantly, Myrtle eventually comes up for oxygen and nods toward the highway. “Good. About thirty-five or forty'll do, then. And remember: ten and two.”
The rest of the trip to Waimea is uneventful, and Lilo's driving improves noticeably.
A Big Enough Lever
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: Lilo & Stitch
Pairing: Myrtle/Lilo
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 500
Notes: Set ten years after the movie. Previous installments in this 'verse chill here.
Summary: On the road to Waimea. For prompt #159, “drive”.
They've barely gotten on the highway and Myrtle is already regretting letting Lilo drive.
“You're almost seventeen, and relatively free of developmental disabilities.” Myrtle's tone implies that she expects to be proven wrong about that at any second. “Why are you so bad at this?”
Lilo's glaring daggers at the steering wheel, on which she has a white-knuckled death-grip. In the wrong places, no less. “Because your car is ridiculous.”
“My car is not ridiculous, you're--what did I say about spaghetti-arms?! Ten and two! Ten and two! And stop strangling the wheel!”
Lilo obeys with gritted teeth and Myrtle tries to wrestle her admittedly martial manner into something more patient. “You need to focus, or you'll be a sloppy, dangerous driver. If you even manage to get your license, that is.”
“You sound just like Nani.”
“You mean Nani, who has her drivers license, like I have mine?”
If Lilo grits her teeth any more the enamel will crack.
For a few silent minutes, the mood in the PT Cruiser is tense: they're both frustrated, and Myrtle's pretty sure alienating Lilo twenty minutes into their second date is not the way to ensure a third.
“Maybe--” she searches for something, anything, but she's never had to be conciliatory before. “Maybe if you eased up on the gas and avoided third gear altogether--”
“Yeah, and maybe I'm just not the kinda girl who should drive stick,” Lilo snaps.
They're nearly a silent quarter-mile down the highway before Myrtle can no longer fight off the giggles. In a few seconds, she's laughing so hard her face is burning and red.
“What?” Lilo demands tightly, and a quick glance at the rearview mirror shows the tense confusion on her face suddenly being replaced by realization, and dignified annoyance. “Sheesh, you know what I meant, Myrtle.”
And Myrtle's off to the races again, taking her glasses off before they fall off.
Lilo jerkily pulls the Cruiser over on the road shoulder and puts it into park.
Turns the ignition off.
Myrtle's laughter tapers, dries up completely as Lilo--who probably is lolo enough to walk all the way back to town--unbuckles her seatbelt. “Okay, I didn't mean to laugh, but that was pretty funny--um, hi,” she adds, because instead of getting out, Lilo's gotten much closer.
“Hiya, Myrtle,” she whispers, and the distance between closes them until Lilo's black eyes are actually dark brown; till their lips touch tentatively, then more certainly.
“So.” Lilo's voice is uneven in a way that Myrtle likes almost as much as she liked the kiss. “Third gear . . . bad?”
“Very.” Kiss. “And drive slower.”
“I'll go.” Kiss. “As slow.” Kiss. “As you want.” Another kiss--this one with less talking and more tongue.
Reeling pleasantly, Myrtle eventually comes up for oxygen and nods toward the highway. “Good. About thirty-five or forty'll do, then. And remember: ten and two.”
The rest of the trip to Waimea is uneventful, and Lilo's driving improves noticeably.