I don't own Hellboy, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies referenced; no money is made from this story. I DO own a box of Lady Grey tea, which is totally addictive and should be banned.
Hey, Folks! Ghost here. I've been kinda neglecting my other fiction lately in favor of "A New Lease on Life"-it's very close to my heart right now, and I'm seriously on a roll with it. Nothing's getting abandoned, it just may be a while before I'm capable of concentrating on any other stories. This drabble actually started as a chapter in an unpublished story, but I felt it deserved more than languishing in a folder. Rated M for mild lime, language, and suggestive themes, and dedicated to everyone who's being patient while I get this plot bunny out of the way.
Suggested listening: John Legend, "Good Morning" & Frank Sinatra, "Witchcraft"
MIT Drabble: Twitter-pated
Beethoven's Fifth began blaring through the darkened bedroom without warning, startling the sleeping redhead into falling out of bed and landing in an undignified sprawl on the carpet. Moments later, Abe strolled into the room to see Amber smacking random parts of the alarm clock from the floor, spouting curse after colorful, creative curse. Chuckling at her mussed ginger hair, squinting amber eyes, and how viciously she smacked the appliance around, he reached over to turn off the alarm with a single precise press.
"Good morning," he greeted, offering her a hand up, his eyes bright with amusement. "Sleep well?"
"It's too damn early for jokes," she grumbled, staggering toward the bathroom. The click of the light switch was punctuated by a surprised shriek, then followed by the switch being flipped back off as the door was pushed closed. "Too early for mirrors, too."
"Perhaps you should braid your hair before bed, Dear," he offered politely. He was rewarded with what sounded like 'Or jus' shave m' fuggin head' through the door. "So dramatic," he chuckled under his breath. "Who knew the professor's daughter wasn't a morning person." Amber re-emerged, yanking a brush through her matted ginger hair, glaring at everything in sight.
"New rule: no one is permitted to do Jack shit before ten am! Any and all violators will be used for target practice." Abe ducked out the door for a moment, setting up a cup of coffee in the small kitchenette. When he returned, he snagged the brush from Amber's shaking hands, replacing it with the mug of coffee, then guided her over to the settee at the foot of the bed.
"Sit." While she downed her sugar-saturated coffee, he patiently picked through the mass of soft ginger hair she'd mangled into a matted mess. "How do you manage this every night? It seems almost more than a person could accomplish in a lifetime!"
"You forget, Darlin'," she answered dryly. "I've had o'er seventy-five years' worth of practice in tangle-makin'. It takes talent, too."
"Perhaps you do need a cut," he said thoughtfully, brushing out the remaining tangles. She twisted to meet his eyes.
"Thought ya said ya liked it long?" she asked quietly, embarrassed at her grumpiness…and the fact that she'd just cursed more in one sitting than in the entire previous year.
"I do," he answered reassuringly, setting down the brush to rub her shoulders. "If you don't at least trim off the split ends, though, you'll continue to wake wearing a hedge maze every morning."
"Well, when ya put it THAT way," she retorted meeting his lips for a quick peck. The peck turned into a deeper kiss, followed by another and a tight embrace. Amber squeaked in surprise when she found herself no longer sitting, but tucked bridal style in Abe's arms. Tender as always, he lowered her to the bare sheets, claiming her lips again as he pressed his right palm to her left, pinning it gently beside her head.
'Do we have time, Darlin'?' she wondered as she linked her fingers with his, her thoughts betraying no disappointment at the change in plans. She very much approved, he thought with a secret smile.
Her long skirts, formal wardrobe, and affinity for tea, wine, poetry, and swing music had once convinced him that she was entirely prim and proper—too proper to entertain a single lascivious thought without a respectable blush and scandalized swoon. That was before he'd walked in on her in the gym, belting out "Cotton Fields" in yoga pants and a scoop-necked top, before she revealed her hidden aerokinetic nature to save the life of her falling sister, before she fought a rampaging waterhorse like a woman possessed, and before he dropped to one knee only to be fairly tackled and smothered with affection right there in the hallway. Their wedding night had only proven that there was more there than he'd suspected, as did every morning, noon, and night since then.
'We have all the time in the world, Dearest.' His psychic reply elicited a tremble; she tugged him onto the bed with her, blushing faintly as he inched her nightgown ever higher, his lips trailing in its wake. 'Amber…Darling Amber….'
'Aber'hem…' In what seemed no time at all, their bodies were bared to one another's gaze. Every thought, every feeling echoed through his wife's whiskey amber eyes, every breath sending her generous breasts shuddering in excitement. Oblivious to anything outside their private paradise, the couple lost themselves in one another, their minds connected from the palms outward. Two hearts that had once seemed so different beat in time as man and wife joined in a dance older than any other.
When the storm subsided, Abe and Amber lay tangled in one another's arms. Sighing happily, she nestled into his side as he stroked her newly-tangled hair. "Do you have any idea how wonderful you are?" she murmured, pausing for a leisurely kiss. "No matter how grumpy I get, no matter how distracted I get, you know just how to straighten me out...and you're so patient..."
"Perhaps you've mistaken me for someone else?" he teased. "From that description, one could assume I'm a Saint."
"Don't push yer luck, Mister. I caught that bit about thinking I'm cute when I'm grumpy. You need some serious brownie points after that."
"Well, it's true," he shrugged. "Would you have me lie to you?"
"I'd have you not mentally compare me to a fuzzy ginger kitten throwing a tantrum," she retorted almost sullenly. "How the heck'm I s'posed to keep people in line with THAT image in my head?" Reluctantly, he stood to gather his clothing from the floor. He leaped into the air with a startled yelp at the sting of a smack on his bare rear, wheeling to gape at her in disbelief. She hadn't moved a muscle—had she SERIOUSLY just used her aerokinetic abilities to SWAT HIM?!
"Did you...SERIOUSLY just...?"
"What?" she grinned slyly, admiring the view laid out before her. "You were bent over an' everythin'. You expect me to pass up that opportunity?"
"Something tells me I need to keep a closer eye on you," he answered warily. He knew every single nook and cranny of her mind and her every thought and feeling were broadcast to him in startling intensity, yet somehow she continued to catch him off guard.
"Only when your back's turned, Love." She laughed lowly, standing with a lazy stretch. As she passed the calendar on her way to the closet, however, she did a double-take. "Dear Lord," she almost whined, her face falling in dread. "PLEASE tell me it's not Halloween!"
"Precisely why I interfered with your morning routine, Dearest." He handed her her brush and left to refill their coffee cups. "You'll need every bit of calm you can muster, what with Alesha and Elysia's antics today."
"Another new rule," she muttered grimly, following Abe to the shower. "Al and Ellie are NOT allowed to wreak havoc every Halloween by dressing up as each other."
"Your father overruled that one last year, remember? It keeps them from, as they say, 'throttling one another.'"
"Crud-flinging-monkeys, today's gonna suck." A scant few hallways away, two troublemakers perfected their usual costumes with every intent on passing the day parodying each other.
Noon found Amber hiding in her office, staring through her paperwork in a daze.
Already the pair of troublesome maintenance specialists had descended on their morning's work log like a pair of lunatics. Alesha, dressed in nauseatingly pink scrubs, a long, staticky blonde wig, and rose-tinted sunglasses had tackled every job with the efficiency of Scarlett O'Hara, wailing for 'Ah-LEE-sha' to 'He'p' her. Every time, Elysia lumbered onto the scene dressed as her partner—slacks, polo, work boots, dyed brown hair, and exaggerated Midwestern twang to boot—and 'saved her' from the unfair tasks. Just outside her office door—for once, closed AND muffled with a jacket—she could hear the pair making a scene about a shorted out light fixture, playing to their ever-growing audience.
Amber was working on a migraine. Focusing on ignoring them, she struggled to read through a file from the teetering pile on her desk. As every time before, though, she continually found herself distracted by her proverbial mental squirrel. 'Aren't they DONE YET?' she cringed at a sudden cackle from the hallway. 'They weren't supposed to REPLACE that light, just fix it! Unless they couldn't fix it…why not? Not like everything else hasn't gone wrong today"—
She cut off her rambling mental tirade with a chastising sniff. Something had gone right, she reminded herself; that morning had been wonderful. More often than not, Abe brewed coffee, sometimes made breakfast, then joined her in the shower before they left. This morning, he'd seemed determined to comfort her, pamper her, and prepare her for the insanity she'd inevitably face. Her train of thought derailed completely, replaying secret moments without regard for anyone. Soft lips trailing over her pulse point, warm, humid breaths against her bare collar, deep blue eyes locked with hers, an endless stream of psychic praises and promises filling her mind—
"TEA," she blurted out suddenly, blushing profusely. "I need some tea…ICED TEA."
"Sweet, I assume?" the sudden amused question from the doorway drew a startled squawk; when had Abe come through the door?! There he stood, though, leaning casually against the doorframe, grinning, and looking far, far too pleased with himself.
"I was projecting again, wasn't I?" she asked dryly. Abe shrugged noncommittally, handing her the glass of sweet tea he'd brought her.
"Don't worry," he answered coolly. "There may be a psychic in Washington who didn't hear you." She groaned loudly, blushing up a storm.
"I need a vacation," she muttered darkly. "Thanks for the tea, Darlin'—you're too good to me, really." With a quick kiss and promise to take her out for lunch, he slipped back out the door, presumably headed for the library. In her office, Amber never realized that he still lurked outside the door with one hand pressed to the wood, monitoring the barrage of thoughts it revealed.
As an impression of sugar and tannins registered, he focused on projecting an impression of his own: bare bodies, wide amber eyes, and not a single obstruction in sight. Right on time, he heard Amber choke on her tea and commence pounding it out of her lungs. Mischief managed and payback dealt, he strolled casually away, never letting on about the constant oaths, exclamations, and threats streaming into his subconscious, or the breathy anticipation that colored them.
Married life suited him, he realized with a chuckle. Never noticing the bewildered stares he was getting, he slipped into the library, distractedly humming Sinatra.