Ficlet: First Class - Jess/Blair - choco_cherries
Title First Class
Pairing Jess Mariano/Blair Waldorf
Fandoms Gilmore Girls, Gossip Girl
Summary Jess and Blair discuss books.
Word Count 296
Prompt Devil @ choco_cherries
"What are you reading?"
It's not that he's trying not to look at the girl sitting to his right, more that he knows it'll be better for his sanity if he doesn't. All he's seen of her thus far is the bend of her elbow, the swing of her chocolate hair across her back and the devil red of her jacket. Any more, he knows, will destroy him. But now that she's talking to him, he hasn't got much of a choice.
Sure, he could pull out his teenage edge, try it on for size. It's been years since he offered up a cold shoulder or a caustic comment without eye-contact. He'd like to think he's past all that, though, so he turns his head (so so slowly), crooks up the corner of his mouth and says "Great Expectations."
She says "ugch," but it's really a sound at the top of her throat: distaste and privilege and two small bottles of the wine the flight attendant keeps offering like it's some sort of going-out-of-business sale. "I had to read that in high school."
"You didn't like it?"
"I thought it was dull."
He shrugs and turns back into his book. "To each their own." But she's not willing to let it go.
"You can't tell me that you enjoy Dickens. There's no life in his books."
"Well I have to disagree there," he tells her, closing the book again, dropping it on the empty middle seat between them, "but do tell, what's your favorite book?"
She gives him a small smile, the kind that informs him just how much trouble she really is. It's a cold smile, a cruel smile. He's maybe a little turned on by that smile. "Why don't you guess?"
Pairing Jess Mariano/Blair Waldorf
Fandoms Gilmore Girls, Gossip Girl
Summary Jess and Blair discuss books.
Word Count 296
Prompt Devil @ choco_cherries
"What are you reading?"
It's not that he's trying not to look at the girl sitting to his right, more that he knows it'll be better for his sanity if he doesn't. All he's seen of her thus far is the bend of her elbow, the swing of her chocolate hair across her back and the devil red of her jacket. Any more, he knows, will destroy him. But now that she's talking to him, he hasn't got much of a choice.
Sure, he could pull out his teenage edge, try it on for size. It's been years since he offered up a cold shoulder or a caustic comment without eye-contact. He'd like to think he's past all that, though, so he turns his head (so so slowly), crooks up the corner of his mouth and says "Great Expectations."
She says "ugch," but it's really a sound at the top of her throat: distaste and privilege and two small bottles of the wine the flight attendant keeps offering like it's some sort of going-out-of-business sale. "I had to read that in high school."
"You didn't like it?"
"I thought it was dull."
He shrugs and turns back into his book. "To each their own." But she's not willing to let it go.
"You can't tell me that you enjoy Dickens. There's no life in his books."
"Well I have to disagree there," he tells her, closing the book again, dropping it on the empty middle seat between them, "but do tell, what's your favorite book?"
She gives him a small smile, the kind that informs him just how much trouble she really is. It's a cold smile, a cruel smile. He's maybe a little turned on by that smile. "Why don't you guess?"