a/n- This fic is for the Halloween exchange in The Writer's Lounge: Clique Edition forum. And it's exclusively for Skye (ifandonlyif)! I'm really sorry at how bad this is. You had such good prompts for me, and I just kind of ruined it. /facepalm. Please (everyone), try to enjoy?
prompts- rice krispie treats, a friendly looking jack-o-lantern, a string of small white Christmas lights, and baseball's post season
warnings- This is long. I broke my own rules. /fail. This has a few sketchy themes, along with containing cursing, boredom, incoherence, un-smoothness, rushed-like features- shall I go on?
disclaimer- Disclaimed.
pairing- Tassie
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Todd liked her hair. In the breezy frigidity of autumn, it twirled its deep chocolate luxury in the wind, as if demanding worship, and the red hues racing through it, could only be seen at certain angles- like when she tilted her head in that inquisitive way of hers, for instance. Or when she laughed- she would toss this crowning mane, and the shimmering strands would catch an ethereal ray of sunlight and gleam with a knowing, yet unabashed humor, shamelessly translated from the owner.
.
He approached her silently. She was sitting on one of the school's wooden, imitation park benches, her fascinating hair whispering and throwing into the wind a fruity shampoo and a protective reprimand- only it could contain such beauty, and its secret would never be revealed. Her indiscernible eyes were racing across the thinning page of her red and blue, Godzilla-proportioned book; her hand was clasped onto a neon blue wrapper, containing a half-eaten Rice Krispie treat.
He observed her quietly, none of the accustomed guilt over watching such a naturally secretive creature in its undisturbed state washing over him. He satisfactorily, yet maybe a bit grimly, scuffed his converses on the dirt-ridden, gum-glued, spit-muddled ground.
With a little gasp, her pursed mouth (humorously reminding him of the Queen of Hearts), grew into a lopsided "O" shape.
"Hey," he greeted, not without some youthful arrogance. She arched her correspondingly auburn brows in response.
"I'm studying," she replied with a noticeable edge.
"Okay," he remarked in a I sooo don't give a shit tone; she briefly glanced up at him. He didn't miss the definite hesitation as her eyes scraped across his every feature. Her yellow eyes curiously jetted to his lips, then returned to his squinting gaze.
"You look like.. a turtle." She returned to her "studies," snapping her slender legs together, while running her delicate hands through her silky, untangled locks in a habitually knowing nature.
He scowled, feeling just a bit frustrated, "At least, I don't look like a fucking dictator!"
Her head thundered upright, her ivory cheeks flushing in surprise and a tad of rage, "What the hell, Todd? Why don't you just go back to your crib, and keep your immature thoughts in that little brain?"
"My little brain thinks immature thoughts of you too much," he unintentionally and hastily snarled; he lowered his head quickly in a duck. Damnit.
"Oh-" She gave a slight exclamation, barely coherent over the heavy wisps of their breaths and the darting whispers of their subconscious.
He would ask. Now. No, Now! Now… It was his chance now, when she was partially focused on him. Bull's-eye-
"Wouldyougoonadatewidme?" He blabbered (before he could change his mind), meeting her gaze directly.
Her eyes flashed, in amusement, he thought, or maybe intrigue, or maybe just plain 'ole irritation, "You can't even talk correctly."
"But-"
"How could I go on a date with you, if you can't talk like a normal human being?" She reiterated, attention focused solely on him.
"Because I would lay in shit for you," he said clearly, the rhythm of his thoughts sliding into a cacophony of abstract words, adages, and curses. The bench she sat on suddenly seemed ominous to him, as if the space left beside her was maliciously calling him, daring him to take its vacancy. The wind was deathly quiet, and no living things riddled the air. The bell had obviously rang, but he hadn't heard it, and apparently, she hadn't either.
"What?" She whispered, disbelief coursing her tone; her yellow eyes seemed almost brown- maybe it was because the sun had sunk behind some of the wintry-portentous clouds, hiding its meticulous glare- but it was a color that he hadn't really picked up on.
He allowed a little nervous smile to curve his lips, "So, would you go on a date with me?"
She stared at him for a long while, until the sinking perspiration in his palms returned, and the feel of his hair on his forehead was more of a dense blanket of irritation rather than a barrier of security.
"I don't know, Todd. Claire probably wouldn't like it," she carefully answered, facial features blank.
"I-"
"I have to go to class," she proclaimed eerily. "Later."
He watched her disappear, the locks of her hair flowing in correspondence to the bounce of her jog, and the sear of the returning wind.
"Later," he murmured into the translucent air.
.
Home wasn't an enjoyable place for him. Claire was a bitch, his mom had bitchy tendencies, and his dad seemed like the bitch factor was catching onto his flabby belt.
"Todd!" his mother yelled, her Southern accent unattractively clinging to her voice, "get out here, and help me with these lights!"
He logged off of his laptop's IM'ing homepage, thumped onto the floor, and jogged resolutely outside. His mom stood, hands cocked on chubby hips, with a string of small, white Christmas lights tangled in her plump hands.
"Yes?" He almost growled, lowering his voice in hope that she would miss his usual smart-aleck attitude.
She huffed, but,- for once (my God-did she have a fever?)- didn't comment, but instead harshly beckoned to him, subsequently thrusting the labyrinth of heavily tangled wires into his arms.
"Thanks a lot. And why are we putting up lights for Halloween?" he sighed exasperatedly, training his eyes on the ground, so he wouldn't be grounded for a week with no tv or computer!
"Because it's pretty and decorative for this time of the year," she grumpily explained, "and hurry! Dinner's in an hour, and if those aren't up, you won't be eating; and no tv either," she concluded, crunching resolutely to the doorway, effectively slamming the door as a last word.
"Fuck you," he tremulously whispered, a heavy breath of anger slamming into his chest. He exhaled. And inhaled. (Etcetera.)
"I would hurry if I were you; mama's not happy, and we wouldn't want the baby to get a cold either."
He almost pissed his pants; there was no sun to light up her figure, but she was just as beautiful, if not more so, than usual.
She tilted her slender, defined chin up, maybe in defiance, maybe just in expectation, but either way, she was waiting for him to do something; she was cuddling a friendly looking jack-o-lantern- its smile was blatantly orange, though there wasn't the customary eerie quality about it. He couldn't help but think that it was a picture of innocence, so unlike its holder. But this was the time when he really needed to find that elusive self-control of his and grasp it.
"I've wearing warm clothes," he stated blankly.
Her eyes widened in an unconcealed surprise at his smooth reply, and then began to almost sparkle, unnerving him. Her silky pajama pants ruffled in the breeze.
"What would we do on this date?"
He lost his grasp on the lights, which, in turn, fell at his feet; he stepped forward, effectively tangling himself further and sending him flying into a metal house post. His head kissed the hard frigid metal with a bang.
"Shit!" He shrieked, quite literally, in front of the girl of his dreams.
She was laughing. Guffawing, really, and it sounded terrible.
"Could you shut the fuck up?" He reprimanded in a pitch, high with agony, the stabbing of his wound casting out any sane thought; he turned to angrily curse her out or something of the likes, only to find her crookedly bent over, her pumpkin carelessly dropping onto the ground with a resounding thud. It appeared as if she was in pain, though he knew otherwise: tears were streaming down her face in thin, crooked rivulets; her mouth was back to an "O", not a sound erupting. Her vibrant hair soared haphazardly around her, caught in a particularly harsh bout of wind. He could feel the chills race over his skin, and the warmth of his body being drained by his greedy clothes, but it was this picture that seeped through his mind, and took away the anger.
"I would take you to a Yankees game," he quietly spoke over her laughter. She stopped abruptly, clutching her stomach; he didn't miss the smooth, silky line of skin that her pajama top had neglected to conceal, and his eyes were involuntarily trained on this.
"You would what?" she almost whispered, eyes a bit red, and hair suddenly still, as if trained to obey with its master's mood.
"On our date. I-I- would take you to a Yankees game-"
"How did you know?" she searched, neon eyes scrutinizing each motion of his eyes and hands.
"The other day- you were reading the Baseball Encyclopedia," he stated simply. Her small hands curled together, and a long pause ensued-
"No," she answered.
His felt his heart break into pieces and resisted the peculiar urge to clutch his chest.
She sighed.
"The game's on tv though. I guess we could watch it," she spotted her eyes on his, her hair flying up in red chunks.
He couldn't contain his excitement, "What? Really? When? Now? Tomorrow? As a date?"
She giggled, as heat enveloped his cheeks, surely lighting up his adolescent freckles, and creating an irritable chatter in his teeth.
"I dunno know what it is, but-yes-when you're done with this ridiculous shit, come to my house. We could sort something out with my tv," she carefully and almost intricately pronounced each word, her mouth pursing delectably. Her eyes suddenly lit up.
"I guess.. I could help you with this."
"Would you really?" he almost screamed.
"Yes, Todd, I really will," she rolled her yellow eyes. Wrinkling her cute nose at the pumpkin lying at her feet, she plopped it onto the porch and picked the lights from his hands, pausing to examine his forehead.
"Aww, Toddie baby, has a boo boo-"
"Would you please stop that-"
"Lemme kiss it," she whispered in a solemn, almost scolding tone.
"Oh-okay," he replied, not letting his surprise and wonder and, admittedly, arousal shine through.
Her lips were strange- they hit his head gently with a cordiality he didn't know she possessed and were soft, yet rough, with the overlapping skin disclosing a prematurely chapped state. She pressed a bit too hard at one time, inducing a wince from him, but allowed a little tongue to peek from beneath her lips and slide over the coarse skin. He shivered, though he was feeling rather warm.
She suddenly jumped away, cheeks a Valentine-esque shade of pink, and spit onto the ground, wiping her mouth afterwards.
"What?" he inquired, puzzled and offended.
"I got a little-euugh-" she momentarily gagged, "a bit of blood in my mouth."
"Then you shouldn't have used tongue," he smugly retorted.
She gasped, flicking him the finger. "Dick!"
"You love me," he smugly pronounced.
"Let's just get these motherfuckers up, okay?"
He momentarily stared at her in surprise, then smoothly agreed, "Sure thing, beautiful."
.
Her room was pretty. He didn't like the word pretty, because it was too feminine and just blech, in general, but the only word for the flamboyant, yet simplistic room would be pretty.
"Nice room," he commented casually, his heart racing twice the time of her ticking pug clock.
"Thanks, I guess," she shot him a weird look, but patted the vacant space beside her in an affable invitation.
She flicked the game on, one eyebrow highly arched in his direction, appearing like an animated cartoon character- he couldn't contain a snort of laughter at the odd mannerism that he was sure she didn't even know that she had.
"What?" She inquired, appearing dumbfounded. He threw her a funny glance, but just shook his head, stole the remote, and revved up the volume.
"Todd!" She slapped his forehead.
"Fuck!" He shouted, "what the hel-"
"Who's up there? Honey, do you have someone in that room with you? You swore that you wouldn't do this again!" Kendra Block's voice came from a few steps away.
"Move, move, move!" she whispered harshly, shoving him onto the floor, where his quick brain decided that under the bed would be the logical option, opposed to the concealing crotch of her stiff mannequin. He grimaced.
He watched her mom's really, really tall heels stumble-yes, stumble- through the doorway. The bed shook with its inhabitant's obvious humor.
"Have a nice trip, Mom? Do you do that all the time? You don't do that in front of the douches you sleep with, do you?" She inquired coldly.
Kendra's feet stomped in an ineffective way, "No-"
"No to performing those stunts in front of those dicks? Or, no, as in you trying to lie to me about your 'adultery'?"
"I'm loyal to your father!" Kendra screeched unattractively.
"Right."
He heard her sniff, before her heels scampered and tripped into the hallway, grumbling and cursing all the way.
"You can come out now," she sang.
He slid from beneath the extravagant view of dust bunnies and-torn lingerie? maybe he should check that out later-and hopped onto the soft bed, albeit cautiously.
"What about your mom?"
"Ah, she gets distracted easily. Easy peasy," she said lamely.
They sat in a surprisingly companionable silence for a while, in rapt attention to the game. He felt her head fall against his shoulder, and resisted a smile.
"My family's fucked-up, Todd," she proclaimed quietly.
"Mine is too."
"I know."
She pivoted, eyes landing on his. They were soft, brimming with emotions that would probably never be sorted, but they were open and shiny and absolutely beautiful in such a vulnerable pigment. Their color was discernable- a deep, rich brown, merely mottled with yellow. Not so scary.
He blinked hard in some sort of eye language, before grasping soft, soft, velvety locks of hair between his fingers. He lifted them to his nose, inhaling the strawberry scent, before rubbing each delicate strand across his face.
She sighed.
"Should I kiss you now?" He froze at her words.
"Not if you don't want to," he inserted.
"I'm not sure I do, Todd; but I've never seen anyone look at me like you do. You make me feel warm inside, but this hair fetish is downright creepy. Though I must say, it makes me warm in other areas," she teased, half-serious.
"Yeah?" he tickled her, lunging carefully across her, "let's get you warm everywhere!"
"Todd-stop-oof- nooo- that's not fair- hey! Watch it. That's a no-play-zone area right there!"
"Mine for the taking!" he declared chivalrously-like.
"No way!" she exclaimed.
They rolled, giggling, across her bed, attempting to mute their raucous noises, when she abruptly breathed, "Todd," into the thickening air.
Her eyes sparkled expectantly, her brilliant hair splayed flawlessly across her sheets.
He traced a long, pale finger across her lips, pale and slightly chapped from the cruelty of outside, relaxed brows, and accented cheekbones, before lowering his head to hers.
The kiss was fucked-up. It was gentle, then messy, saliva stringing between their mouths. Remarks like "you need a breath mint." and "when was the last you flossed?" were recurring, but they were inevitably glued to another. Hands traversed places that hadn't been properly searched before. Their hearts raced, and hormonal bodies began to thrust against the other, before-
"What the fuck? Todd. That's just gross," Too blond Claire was perched in the doorway, lips turned down in undeniable disgust; she shot a gaze to his partner, sardonically adding, "he has a small penis."
Their hands were frozen on each others' chests; Claire commenced a slouchy departure, but slid her head back in, "Baseball's post season isn't over yet? How damn long does that sport take to end? God!" She then proceeded to leave.
They stared, assessing the other's face, before collapsing into exhausting laughter, sweaty hands entwined.
"I think you should go outside more often," she breathlessly remarked.
"Why?"
"We would have been humping each other already, dumbass! Instead of watching porn, you could have been outside, and we would have already had this," she complained.
"I-"
"I love your mom," she added, "and pumpkins."
"That makes no sense."
"Who cares, bitch?" she giggled.
"I really don't want to see you drunk."
"Me neither."
"I'd qualify this as a date," he swaggered.
"Ya think?"
They curled up on the plush bed, dozing to Claire's occasional presence and insertion of "Pussies", "Traitors" "Fuck you both", and the brandy that flowed from her to them like a familiar wreath at Christmastime.
Halloween was a tad better than he had anticipated.
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a/n- Cheers to senselessly rushed, horrible fics! Agh, that was a long and pitiful Tassie. I hope you liked it, anyway (Skye). Review for me por favor? And thanks to Hannah (in the jungle dances) for beta-ing at the last minute!(:
-Livvy
fun fact- Massie's name was not mentioned once. /swag