Title: Antichrist in the Kitchen
Disclaimer: Feh. I wish.
Rating: Gah. I'm going to play it safe with PG-13. for some language, innuendo, teasing hints of m/m slash, and ... um ... incest. *sigh*
Notes: *looks around suspiciously* Okay! I know I swore I'd never even come to like this pairing. I know I said I'd never write slash fic with them. But...the idea popped up in my head and it wouldn't go away. I'll probably burn for this one some day, too. Oh yeah, and the title, if you're wondering, came from a line from my favorite psycho redhead, Tori Amos, in the song "Silent All These Years."
Plug o' the Moment: "Rebound" by Standing. It's incredible! And tell her I sent you so she'll bake me cookies!
******
Jeff Hardy was a remarkably simple person, despite or perhaps in spite of his every outward appearance. An ear to unload on, a funny person, interesting women, or good food – not necessarily all at once, but that was desirable as well – were the only ingredients he needed to entertain himself for hours. And, after spending so much time on the road, going from one cramped restaurant to the other for food, there was very little that could make him happier than waking up to the smell of a home cooked meal.
Unfortunately, this was not going to be one of those days.
Stretching from having just woken from his catnap in the hammock in the back yard, he moved sleepily from the porch into the kitchen, sniffing the air and consequently wrinkling his nose in disgust. "What the hell is that?"
"Don't cuss in the house," his father scolded from the table without even looking up from the crossword puzzle he was attempting to work.
"Sorry, Dad." Jeff moved further into the kitchen, eyes widening when he saw a bubbling pot of something atop the stove. "Um...Should I really ask?"
"Maybe, but first I need a five letter word for enraged."
A thoughtful pause. "Angry."
"Thanks. Your brother decided he wanted to cook dinner tonight."
Jeff raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Matt? He's cooking?"
"That's what he's callin' it, anyhow."
Jeff snorted and turned back to see Matt grinning broadly at him. "When was the last time you cooked anything that didn't involve unwrapping something an' stickin' it in the microwave?"
"Tenth grade home ec, but it can't be that hard to make spaghetti."
"You never made anything but burnt funnel cakes, though. Does that count as cooking?"
"Boys, be nice." There was a quiet clicking noise while their father restlessly tapped his pen against the table. "I hate crosswords."
"Then why are you doin' it?"
Given no response, Jeff shrugged and jumped onto the counter beside the stove, swinging his feet like a small child but being careful to avoid hitting the cabinets and the lecture that would follow such an act. "Is that really s'posed t'be spaghetti?"
Matt's brow narrowed but he kept his cool and nodded. "Yeah. It'll be good, trust me. No one can screw up spaghetti."
Jeff fell silent, rummaging through his jeans for something and eventually giving up in frustration. "Hey, Matt."
"Huh?"
"Look."
He did. And he dropped the large spoon he was using to stir the contents of the pot. "Holy shit! What the fuck did you do to yourself?"
"Matthew! Watch your mouth!"
Matt braced himself against the side of the stove he wasn't using, staring incredulously up at Jeff on the counter top. "Well, did you see what he's done to himself now?"
The man turned from the table, shaking his head in what might have been amusement when Jeff stuck his tongue out proudly and light glinted off a shiny silver stud pierced into it. "Jeff, you're my boy and I love you, but . . . sometimes you really disgust me, you know that?"
"Yup." He turned his attention back to Matt, flickering his tongue lewdly and receiving a heated glare for his trouble. "Y'like it?"
"Did you really need to put another hole in your body? Can't you just be content to draw on yourself?" Matt picked up the spoon he dropped and tossed it into the sink, narrowly missing hitting Jeff with it in the process. "God. That's just . . . when'd you do it?"
"Last night. Remember Gor?"
Matt cringed; evidently, he did. Gregory, or Gor as he was often termed, was a six foot tall would-be Goth with eyes as black as his hair – both naturally – and tattoos and piercings everywhere. He owned a tattoo and piercing parlor that conveniently also sold used CDs at a discount. For whatever sick reasons he had, Jeff had befriended him while still in high school. Matt had always assumed it was because there weren't very many tall Goths roaming around North Carolina.
"Well," Jeff went on, oblivious to Matt's little trip down memory lane, "I ran into 'im last night at Blockbuster. We ended up goin' back to his work to catch up an' he . . . uh, got me a l'il drunk, t'be honest. And I got this." He poked his tongue out again, making Matt turn his head and shudder. "Cool, huh? I was out of it when it happened, but I think it's pretty cool. Remind me to call 'im and say thanks later.'
"You've got way too much time on your hands."
"You're jus' jealous," Jeff pointed out with a smug grin, leaning his head back to rest against the cabinets behind it. "You wish y'could be as cool as me."
Matt rolled his eyes and carefully restrained himself from throwing the pot of boiling whatever that was at his brother. That'd just be another mess he had to clean up. "So tell me, Jeff – how's it feel t'have a pair o' balls in y'mouth?"
Jeff's mouth dropped open momentarily, not having been expecting the comment, and their father chuckled from his spot at the table. "That's not funny!" He huffed sorely, making a point to scowl as hard as he could at Matt. Oh, was he ever scowling. "I wouldn't know, Matty. You strike me as the type t'end up on the receiving end."
It was Matt's turn to stare up in silent shock, met with a grin and the immediate presentation of the tongue ring again. He threw the empty spaghetti box at Jeff, which only warranted a snort and Jeff's grating laughter that he only used when he knew he had someone cornered.
"Matt, be nice to your brother. He's young and stupid."
"Are you callin' me old, then?"
"And Jeff," their father went on, purposely ignoring Matt's astonished question, "you'd better shut up while you're ahead. He's bigger than you."
Safe from his position behind his father's back, Jeff let his eyes drift lazily down to Matt's crotch, eyebrows wagging suggestively. "No, he's not."
Too embarrassed to say anything in rebuttal, Matt flushed a dark crimson and stirred the pot furiously, dark eyes fixed on Jeff's mischievous light ones.
"I think you've had too many chair shots, son."
"Maybe," Jeff agreed easily with a shrug. "But I just call 'em like I see 'em."
"Then you should get your eyes checked. What's a six-letter word for handsome that ends in y?"
Jeff kicked Matt lightly in the leg with the toe of his combat boot to get his attention. "Comely."
"Hmm. It fits. Thanks."
"No problem."
Barely a minute later, the man got up and left, taking his newspaper with him and mumbling about needing to feed the dog. That left Matt free to try to stare a hole through his little brother's forehead.
"What, Matt? Why're you lookin' at me that way?"
"What the hell was that all about?" Matt demanded, eyes practically blazing. "Jeff, you stupid –"
Had he not been pulled closer by some creative use of Jeff's feet and caught up in a kiss, he might have said any number of rude unflattering names. That, however, wasn't meant to be, and so instead he leaned up and let Jeff have his fun, but he had to moan his displeasure when the cold steel suddenly invaded his mouth.
"You nasty freak."
Jeff feigned shock, hand over his heart. "You're the one kissin' your brother, you perverted queer! Incestuous queer!"
"Hey Jeff."
"What?"
Matt looked up, face full of guilty mirth. "We don't have a dog."
Disclaimer: Feh. I wish.
Rating: Gah. I'm going to play it safe with PG-13. for some language, innuendo, teasing hints of m/m slash, and ... um ... incest. *sigh*
Notes: *looks around suspiciously* Okay! I know I swore I'd never even come to like this pairing. I know I said I'd never write slash fic with them. But...the idea popped up in my head and it wouldn't go away. I'll probably burn for this one some day, too. Oh yeah, and the title, if you're wondering, came from a line from my favorite psycho redhead, Tori Amos, in the song "Silent All These Years."
Plug o' the Moment: "Rebound" by Standing. It's incredible! And tell her I sent you so she'll bake me cookies!
******
Jeff Hardy was a remarkably simple person, despite or perhaps in spite of his every outward appearance. An ear to unload on, a funny person, interesting women, or good food – not necessarily all at once, but that was desirable as well – were the only ingredients he needed to entertain himself for hours. And, after spending so much time on the road, going from one cramped restaurant to the other for food, there was very little that could make him happier than waking up to the smell of a home cooked meal.
Unfortunately, this was not going to be one of those days.
Stretching from having just woken from his catnap in the hammock in the back yard, he moved sleepily from the porch into the kitchen, sniffing the air and consequently wrinkling his nose in disgust. "What the hell is that?"
"Don't cuss in the house," his father scolded from the table without even looking up from the crossword puzzle he was attempting to work.
"Sorry, Dad." Jeff moved further into the kitchen, eyes widening when he saw a bubbling pot of something atop the stove. "Um...Should I really ask?"
"Maybe, but first I need a five letter word for enraged."
A thoughtful pause. "Angry."
"Thanks. Your brother decided he wanted to cook dinner tonight."
Jeff raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Matt? He's cooking?"
"That's what he's callin' it, anyhow."
Jeff snorted and turned back to see Matt grinning broadly at him. "When was the last time you cooked anything that didn't involve unwrapping something an' stickin' it in the microwave?"
"Tenth grade home ec, but it can't be that hard to make spaghetti."
"You never made anything but burnt funnel cakes, though. Does that count as cooking?"
"Boys, be nice." There was a quiet clicking noise while their father restlessly tapped his pen against the table. "I hate crosswords."
"Then why are you doin' it?"
Given no response, Jeff shrugged and jumped onto the counter beside the stove, swinging his feet like a small child but being careful to avoid hitting the cabinets and the lecture that would follow such an act. "Is that really s'posed t'be spaghetti?"
Matt's brow narrowed but he kept his cool and nodded. "Yeah. It'll be good, trust me. No one can screw up spaghetti."
Jeff fell silent, rummaging through his jeans for something and eventually giving up in frustration. "Hey, Matt."
"Huh?"
"Look."
He did. And he dropped the large spoon he was using to stir the contents of the pot. "Holy shit! What the fuck did you do to yourself?"
"Matthew! Watch your mouth!"
Matt braced himself against the side of the stove he wasn't using, staring incredulously up at Jeff on the counter top. "Well, did you see what he's done to himself now?"
The man turned from the table, shaking his head in what might have been amusement when Jeff stuck his tongue out proudly and light glinted off a shiny silver stud pierced into it. "Jeff, you're my boy and I love you, but . . . sometimes you really disgust me, you know that?"
"Yup." He turned his attention back to Matt, flickering his tongue lewdly and receiving a heated glare for his trouble. "Y'like it?"
"Did you really need to put another hole in your body? Can't you just be content to draw on yourself?" Matt picked up the spoon he dropped and tossed it into the sink, narrowly missing hitting Jeff with it in the process. "God. That's just . . . when'd you do it?"
"Last night. Remember Gor?"
Matt cringed; evidently, he did. Gregory, or Gor as he was often termed, was a six foot tall would-be Goth with eyes as black as his hair – both naturally – and tattoos and piercings everywhere. He owned a tattoo and piercing parlor that conveniently also sold used CDs at a discount. For whatever sick reasons he had, Jeff had befriended him while still in high school. Matt had always assumed it was because there weren't very many tall Goths roaming around North Carolina.
"Well," Jeff went on, oblivious to Matt's little trip down memory lane, "I ran into 'im last night at Blockbuster. We ended up goin' back to his work to catch up an' he . . . uh, got me a l'il drunk, t'be honest. And I got this." He poked his tongue out again, making Matt turn his head and shudder. "Cool, huh? I was out of it when it happened, but I think it's pretty cool. Remind me to call 'im and say thanks later.'
"You've got way too much time on your hands."
"You're jus' jealous," Jeff pointed out with a smug grin, leaning his head back to rest against the cabinets behind it. "You wish y'could be as cool as me."
Matt rolled his eyes and carefully restrained himself from throwing the pot of boiling whatever that was at his brother. That'd just be another mess he had to clean up. "So tell me, Jeff – how's it feel t'have a pair o' balls in y'mouth?"
Jeff's mouth dropped open momentarily, not having been expecting the comment, and their father chuckled from his spot at the table. "That's not funny!" He huffed sorely, making a point to scowl as hard as he could at Matt. Oh, was he ever scowling. "I wouldn't know, Matty. You strike me as the type t'end up on the receiving end."
It was Matt's turn to stare up in silent shock, met with a grin and the immediate presentation of the tongue ring again. He threw the empty spaghetti box at Jeff, which only warranted a snort and Jeff's grating laughter that he only used when he knew he had someone cornered.
"Matt, be nice to your brother. He's young and stupid."
"Are you callin' me old, then?"
"And Jeff," their father went on, purposely ignoring Matt's astonished question, "you'd better shut up while you're ahead. He's bigger than you."
Safe from his position behind his father's back, Jeff let his eyes drift lazily down to Matt's crotch, eyebrows wagging suggestively. "No, he's not."
Too embarrassed to say anything in rebuttal, Matt flushed a dark crimson and stirred the pot furiously, dark eyes fixed on Jeff's mischievous light ones.
"I think you've had too many chair shots, son."
"Maybe," Jeff agreed easily with a shrug. "But I just call 'em like I see 'em."
"Then you should get your eyes checked. What's a six-letter word for handsome that ends in y?"
Jeff kicked Matt lightly in the leg with the toe of his combat boot to get his attention. "Comely."
"Hmm. It fits. Thanks."
"No problem."
Barely a minute later, the man got up and left, taking his newspaper with him and mumbling about needing to feed the dog. That left Matt free to try to stare a hole through his little brother's forehead.
"What, Matt? Why're you lookin' at me that way?"
"What the hell was that all about?" Matt demanded, eyes practically blazing. "Jeff, you stupid –"
Had he not been pulled closer by some creative use of Jeff's feet and caught up in a kiss, he might have said any number of rude unflattering names. That, however, wasn't meant to be, and so instead he leaned up and let Jeff have his fun, but he had to moan his displeasure when the cold steel suddenly invaded his mouth.
"You nasty freak."
Jeff feigned shock, hand over his heart. "You're the one kissin' your brother, you perverted queer! Incestuous queer!"
"Hey Jeff."
"What?"
Matt looked up, face full of guilty mirth. "We don't have a dog."