FIC: Dirty
Author's note: I started this with all the intention in the world to make it fit into my sex drabble series, but alas there is no sex (do I hear groans of disappointment? pfft). Yet I make the rules and I don't care. It's still part of the series. Nyah.
Warren returns home from a mission, needing some support from a loved one.
Dirty
Crash!
Oh my God. She awoke with a start and a gasp, shooting straight in bed and even she felt the cold bite of her power all over her as she did.
So, too, did the intruder.
“Whoa, shit.” Thump. “God dammit, Claire.” And a few other choice words as the dark figure stumbled and collided with yet another sharp corner, this time of the bed. She felt the whole thing jar under her.
Even in full dark, though, she could recognise the voice of her boyfriend anywhere. “Oh my God, Warren.” Claire untangled herself in a hurry and reached the switch, light blasting her eyes and temporarily blinding her. Squinting, she found him where she’d heard him, nursing his stubbed toe and… looking worn for the worst, if ever such an expression existed. “Are you okay?” she croaked through the visual fogginess. “What happened?”
Tee-shirt ripped to shreds, choice cuts caking his skin with dried blood and mud smudged over it all, he looked like he’d been through the wringer. Seeing how he held himself - barely touching the bathroom door frame for fear of dirtying it, and trembling from the effort it took to hold himself upright - she felt his exhaustion as though she were under his skin.
“Optic Blaster,” Warren breathed in a tired burst. “We barely… got out but the fire… will make the news. Took all day…”
Oh God… Pushing the sleepiness away, Claire gathered him within her arms and-
Warren protested feebly, pushing her away. “What are you doing?” he asked, wavering at the sudden movement. “I’m… disgusting,” he dead-panned, as though it had just occurred to him.
She kissed him anyway, the tugged him clear into the bathroom. “You need a shower,” she declared, starting the overhead spray. Damn pipes needed a few minutes to realise hot was not cold.
“I know,” Warren muttered with a jaw-cracking yawn, and reached up with heavy arms to tug his ruined shirt over his head.
After his second try, Claire decided to help, even as she inspected his various wounds to make sure they were dry and not infected. She yawned, too. Then sat on the toilet when he stepped inside the tub. Separated by a transparent plastic curtain - kinky, he’d commented when she’d first brought the Dollar Store deal in - she watched him lean against the wall and turn his head to the spray. Just in case. But mostly she just thanked the powers that be that he’d come home in one piece once again.
Warren returns home from a mission, needing some support from a loved one.
Dirty
Crash!
Oh my God. She awoke with a start and a gasp, shooting straight in bed and even she felt the cold bite of her power all over her as she did.
So, too, did the intruder.
“Whoa, shit.” Thump. “God dammit, Claire.” And a few other choice words as the dark figure stumbled and collided with yet another sharp corner, this time of the bed. She felt the whole thing jar under her.
Even in full dark, though, she could recognise the voice of her boyfriend anywhere. “Oh my God, Warren.” Claire untangled herself in a hurry and reached the switch, light blasting her eyes and temporarily blinding her. Squinting, she found him where she’d heard him, nursing his stubbed toe and… looking worn for the worst, if ever such an expression existed. “Are you okay?” she croaked through the visual fogginess. “What happened?”
Tee-shirt ripped to shreds, choice cuts caking his skin with dried blood and mud smudged over it all, he looked like he’d been through the wringer. Seeing how he held himself - barely touching the bathroom door frame for fear of dirtying it, and trembling from the effort it took to hold himself upright - she felt his exhaustion as though she were under his skin.
“Optic Blaster,” Warren breathed in a tired burst. “We barely… got out but the fire… will make the news. Took all day…”
Oh God… Pushing the sleepiness away, Claire gathered him within her arms and-
Warren protested feebly, pushing her away. “What are you doing?” he asked, wavering at the sudden movement. “I’m… disgusting,” he dead-panned, as though it had just occurred to him.
She kissed him anyway, the tugged him clear into the bathroom. “You need a shower,” she declared, starting the overhead spray. Damn pipes needed a few minutes to realise hot was not cold.
“I know,” Warren muttered with a jaw-cracking yawn, and reached up with heavy arms to tug his ruined shirt over his head.
After his second try, Claire decided to help, even as she inspected his various wounds to make sure they were dry and not infected. She yawned, too. Then sat on the toilet when he stepped inside the tub. Separated by a transparent plastic curtain - kinky, he’d commented when she’d first brought the Dollar Store deal in - she watched him lean against the wall and turn his head to the spray. Just in case. But mostly she just thanked the powers that be that he’d come home in one piece once again.