Sweet Nothings
Blehh! Two same-fandom fics in the same day?! No one is more surprised than myself, ladies and gents. I can only hope that this will turn out well. (I always write my fics on the fly. No planning, other than the original inspiration.)
Disclaimer: I just watch it like my life depends upon it. Along with Castle and Harry Potter, that is.
"Get out," I ordered, throwing a pillow at Patrick. My laptop was against my knees, a Word document glaring blankly at me, and my boyfriend-thing had already overstayed his welcome. I knew this from the glare my father gave as he'd passed by the living room five minutes ago.
Patrick ducked, the pillow landing harmlessly against the armchair. He laughed, killing the tense mood he'd just created by the little smoldering act that had prompted me to throw the missile. "Must I?" he complained, scooting even closer to me on the couch.
I put my hands resolutely on the keys. "Yes, if I ever want to finish this paper."
"But wouldn't you rather I stay?" Patrick's voice had dropped (was that even possible for Patrick?), and he began to twine his fingers in my hair. I steeled myself, staying resolute if only for my ego. "Would you prefer to write on Ancient Mesopotamia, or spend the evening with your favourite person whispering sweet nothings into your ear?"
It was so tantalizing. But no.
"Not gonna happen, lover boy," I teased back brashly, desperately trying to squash the atmosphere he'd brought back. "Sweet nothings are just that – nothing. They're completely unnecessary to further a relationship. No girl just wants to be someone's booty call. We need companionship, and that's more than nothing."
Throughout my speech, I'd tapped in The Structure of Ancient Mesopotamia's Social Classes as my header, not paying attention to the boy next to me. When he didn't respond, I looked up, and was immediately swept into a kiss that so surprised me, my breath was literally taken away.
"Gotta go, Dalai Mama," I heard as our lips parted, and I smirked at the nickname. Patrick swept out the front door, and I went to the window to make sure he put on his helmet.
I suddenly registered that Patrick had been looking up when he'd bidden me farewell. "Good night, Dad," I said pointedly, before snatching up my laptop and hiking upstairs before the Inquisition could corner me.
I don't know where this came from. Crazy times in my brain.