Disclaimer – I don't own Tim Speedle (sigh), but hey a girl can dream can't
she? I do however, own Leanna and Nicholas. They are a part of my master
plan to give Timmy a life outside the office, because the boy desperately
needs one.
Rating – Total G.
Pairings – Tim and his lovely wife Leanna
|Summary – I was inspired to write this by reading Jeanine's | |wonderful fic "Nothing But Possibilites." The challenge said to| |take a line from Empire Records and use it as the first line in your| |fic. Well I got to thinking about it, and the line I've chosen | |gives me the perfect opportunity to combine my two favorite things | |– Tim Speedle and Rascal Flatts. I've selected two lines, | |neither of which Rory utters in the film, but I am putting one of | |them into his mouth now! |
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"I'm exercising my veto," Tim said, furiously punching the eject button on the CD player.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Leanna asked curiously, accepting the disk from him and sliding it back into the CD album. "It's only nine o'clock in the morning and Atlanta is still six hours away."
The Speedles were on their way to Atlanta for a forensics convention where Tim and Leanna had been asked to speak about the Honeymooners Case they'd worked on two years before. Since Nicholas had suffered from a number of ear infections and Leanna was afraid the changing cabin pressure of a plane might hurt him, they'd chosen to drive.
"I'm sure," he answered, "It is way too early for that crap."
"Crap?" Leanna asked, fighting back the laughter in her voice. "How dare you call Brad Paisley crap? I don't criticize your music."
Tim turned his head to glare at her, not quite believing she'd let that total, utter LIE slip out of her mouth; then returned his attention to the interstate stretching before them. "If you're going to listen to country music, you could at least have to decency to put in something I can tolerate," he teased.
"Okay fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "What can you tolerate?"
"That one group that does 'Free Ride'," he answered.
"Rascal Flatts?" she asked in amazement. "I didn't know you liked them."
"I don't," he emphasized, "But I do like that song, and the dude on lead guitar honestly isn't half bad."
"Actually he's brilliant, and his name is Joe Don," she reminded him.
"Whatever," he answered, "I thought it was the dark-headed one you liked so much."
"Mmm-hmm," she said with a grin, "Jay." Leanna dug the CD out and slid it into the CD player. Nicholas squealed with delight as the first bars of "Too Good is True," came through the speakers. Tim reached up and pushed the rear-view mirror down so that he could see Nicholas in the backseat.
Tim frowned as he watched his five-month old son kicking his legs furiously, in almost perfect time to the music. "How often do you listen to this CD, Lea?" he asked.
"Let me put it this way," she answered with a sly smile, "Don't be surprised if this is the first song he ever sings." She turned around to face Nicholas and grabbed his foot. "Who needs Row-Row-Row Your Boat when you've got the Flatts, right Nick?"
Tim pushed the "next" button on the player until he got to track 13. Leanna had burned the CD from the live DVD concert the band had put out several months before. "Daytona Beach!" the band's lead singer cried as the concert finale began, "Ya'll want some more?"
"You gotta admit," Leanna said, hitting the volume button to turn the sound up, "They did an awesome job combining 'Foreplay', 'Long Time' and 'Free Ride'."
"I will admit only that it's not bad," he shot back as he prepared to pass a slow moving vehicle in the right lane.
"Why do you hate country music so much?" she asked thoughtfully. "I've subjected you to it for years. I would have thought you would have developed an appreciation for it by now."
"I don't hate country music," he responded, setting the cruise control on the couple's Tahoe. "I just don't like it. Why do you hate my music so much?" he countered.
"I don't hate your music, honey, I just don't understand half the words," she answered coyly. Tim's arm was resting on the console between them, and Leanna began gently stroking his bare skin.
He tried to ignore the sensations his wife's touch always caused. He wasn't quite willing to let her win this discussion – at least not yet. "What's not to understand? I sing all the words for you."
She shrugged. "I like Three Doors Down."
"That doesn't count," he shot back. "Everybody likes Three Doors Down. I'm talking about Staind, or Linkin Park, or Hoobastank."
Leanna laughed. "How do you expect me to take their music seriously when they've got such bizarre band names?"
"Oh, like Rascal Flatts is so freakin' normal?" he asked irritably.
Leanna grinned and settled back into her seat, removing her fingers from Tim's arm as punishment. "It's clever."
He raised his knee to steer for a moment and grabbed her left hand, returning it to its previous position on his arm. "It doesn't mean anything," he argued.
She fingered the coarse dark hair on his arm. "Okay, smarty-pants, what does Hoobastank mean?"
He swallowed the grin tugging at his lips. "You're missing the point, Lea."
Leanna released her seatbelt and slid closer to him. "You don't know the answer, Tim, just admit it," she whispered into his ear.
Tim shrugged away from her tongue, which was tracing the outline of his ear. "You can't win every argument by turning me on, Lea."
"I can try," she argued, running her hand down the inside of his thigh.
"I'm going to have a wreck," he teased. "How would we explain that to your parents? Mike, Kathy, your daughter was trying to win an argument by getting a rise out of me, literally," he glared at her, "and I lost all concentration, putting your grandson's life in danger."
Leanna sank back in her seat and fastened her seatbelt. "Well, now you're just being silly," she frowned, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting.
"Uh-huh, that's what I thought," he answered victoriously. "I win and I get my veto back."
The End.
Rating – Total G.
Pairings – Tim and his lovely wife Leanna
|Summary – I was inspired to write this by reading Jeanine's | |wonderful fic "Nothing But Possibilites." The challenge said to| |take a line from Empire Records and use it as the first line in your| |fic. Well I got to thinking about it, and the line I've chosen | |gives me the perfect opportunity to combine my two favorite things | |– Tim Speedle and Rascal Flatts. I've selected two lines, | |neither of which Rory utters in the film, but I am putting one of | |them into his mouth now! |
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I'm exercising my veto," Tim said, furiously punching the eject button on the CD player.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Leanna asked curiously, accepting the disk from him and sliding it back into the CD album. "It's only nine o'clock in the morning and Atlanta is still six hours away."
The Speedles were on their way to Atlanta for a forensics convention where Tim and Leanna had been asked to speak about the Honeymooners Case they'd worked on two years before. Since Nicholas had suffered from a number of ear infections and Leanna was afraid the changing cabin pressure of a plane might hurt him, they'd chosen to drive.
"I'm sure," he answered, "It is way too early for that crap."
"Crap?" Leanna asked, fighting back the laughter in her voice. "How dare you call Brad Paisley crap? I don't criticize your music."
Tim turned his head to glare at her, not quite believing she'd let that total, utter LIE slip out of her mouth; then returned his attention to the interstate stretching before them. "If you're going to listen to country music, you could at least have to decency to put in something I can tolerate," he teased.
"Okay fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "What can you tolerate?"
"That one group that does 'Free Ride'," he answered.
"Rascal Flatts?" she asked in amazement. "I didn't know you liked them."
"I don't," he emphasized, "But I do like that song, and the dude on lead guitar honestly isn't half bad."
"Actually he's brilliant, and his name is Joe Don," she reminded him.
"Whatever," he answered, "I thought it was the dark-headed one you liked so much."
"Mmm-hmm," she said with a grin, "Jay." Leanna dug the CD out and slid it into the CD player. Nicholas squealed with delight as the first bars of "Too Good is True," came through the speakers. Tim reached up and pushed the rear-view mirror down so that he could see Nicholas in the backseat.
Tim frowned as he watched his five-month old son kicking his legs furiously, in almost perfect time to the music. "How often do you listen to this CD, Lea?" he asked.
"Let me put it this way," she answered with a sly smile, "Don't be surprised if this is the first song he ever sings." She turned around to face Nicholas and grabbed his foot. "Who needs Row-Row-Row Your Boat when you've got the Flatts, right Nick?"
Tim pushed the "next" button on the player until he got to track 13. Leanna had burned the CD from the live DVD concert the band had put out several months before. "Daytona Beach!" the band's lead singer cried as the concert finale began, "Ya'll want some more?"
"You gotta admit," Leanna said, hitting the volume button to turn the sound up, "They did an awesome job combining 'Foreplay', 'Long Time' and 'Free Ride'."
"I will admit only that it's not bad," he shot back as he prepared to pass a slow moving vehicle in the right lane.
"Why do you hate country music so much?" she asked thoughtfully. "I've subjected you to it for years. I would have thought you would have developed an appreciation for it by now."
"I don't hate country music," he responded, setting the cruise control on the couple's Tahoe. "I just don't like it. Why do you hate my music so much?" he countered.
"I don't hate your music, honey, I just don't understand half the words," she answered coyly. Tim's arm was resting on the console between them, and Leanna began gently stroking his bare skin.
He tried to ignore the sensations his wife's touch always caused. He wasn't quite willing to let her win this discussion – at least not yet. "What's not to understand? I sing all the words for you."
She shrugged. "I like Three Doors Down."
"That doesn't count," he shot back. "Everybody likes Three Doors Down. I'm talking about Staind, or Linkin Park, or Hoobastank."
Leanna laughed. "How do you expect me to take their music seriously when they've got such bizarre band names?"
"Oh, like Rascal Flatts is so freakin' normal?" he asked irritably.
Leanna grinned and settled back into her seat, removing her fingers from Tim's arm as punishment. "It's clever."
He raised his knee to steer for a moment and grabbed her left hand, returning it to its previous position on his arm. "It doesn't mean anything," he argued.
She fingered the coarse dark hair on his arm. "Okay, smarty-pants, what does Hoobastank mean?"
He swallowed the grin tugging at his lips. "You're missing the point, Lea."
Leanna released her seatbelt and slid closer to him. "You don't know the answer, Tim, just admit it," she whispered into his ear.
Tim shrugged away from her tongue, which was tracing the outline of his ear. "You can't win every argument by turning me on, Lea."
"I can try," she argued, running her hand down the inside of his thigh.
"I'm going to have a wreck," he teased. "How would we explain that to your parents? Mike, Kathy, your daughter was trying to win an argument by getting a rise out of me, literally," he glared at her, "and I lost all concentration, putting your grandson's life in danger."
Leanna sank back in her seat and fastened her seatbelt. "Well, now you're just being silly," she frowned, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting.
"Uh-huh, that's what I thought," he answered victoriously. "I win and I get my veto back."
The End.