Dedication: this chappie is going out to Miss-Rainy-Skies even though I haven't talked to here in ages, but as you all most likely know she is a hilarious treasure with an overwhelmingly beautiful talent. Her story Damage Control is one of the most popular throughout our archive and if you haven't already read and reviewed, go do that now. :)
Disclaimer: if any of us actually owned this television show i have a very high hunch that Ally would pregnant and Austin would walk around without a shirt on, always.
Inspiration: obviously, the enormous amounts of positive feedback I have been receiving for this fic is helping me push forward and I sincerely cannot thank you all enough. Thankyouthankyouthankyou :). Other than that, I had gone to wicked a week ago and that explains the random dialogue about Broadway shows, and I constantly listen to Pandora which led to Fat Bottomed Girls playing on my classic rock station and I really fell in love with the thought of Austin and Ally dancing in a random street while he sings it to her.
A/N: you all will hate me if I told you this, but this chapter has actually been done for about a week now. I'm sorry, but editing is always a big process because I cannot spell and grammar is key but a constant struggle. I'm sorry that I have to be so lazy guys. However, I would like to take a moment and say what the actual heck happened to couples & careers like I am just here sobinggggggggg not to mention last night at the rdma's like ugh the fandom is always under attack it seems.
"I think that Austin needs to pay for Ally and Dez is obviously paying for me. It's kind of in the boyfriend code, guys."
Austin awkwardly clears his throat while Ally evidently rolls her eyes and smacks a twenty clear on the table the four currently inhabit.
"You really don't have to do that," he counters, reaching his hand for his own wallet and turning to talk directly into her eyes. Her impossibly soft and docile hand curls around his wrist as she stops his movement.
"You can just catch me at the next time, I guess," she answers and he's smiling immediately because this is kind of her telling him that the night didn't go nearly as bad as he had thought it did. "Besides, it's only ice cream."
Trish turns to face Dez and his eyes are trained at the couple blossoming right before his very eyes—at least, that's what his mind is thinking—and she breathes in before saying, "Ice cream or diamonds, you're paying because you're a gentlemen."
Austin's eyes roll back and forth at the cheap shot directed towards him, and watches as his best friend open and empty his wallet for the seemingly millionth time for the evening.
He is having a really hard time not noticing exactly how much of a perfect girlfriend Ally would make, given that she's sort of the most perfect girl he's ever met.
Her wheels screech into Trish's driveway and she pulls her wristlet handbag from the passenger side along with her up the sidewalk. She feels her curls bounce on her exposed back, the halter tie of her shirt leaving skin to soak out in the Miami sun. Her skirt is taut around her thighs, just as flattering as it is scarce: she tries not to think about how she might possibly be wearing it to impress a particular blonde.
Trish opens the door on the third knock and she almost stumbles back with the overpowering amounts of radiance unleashed with a simple smile. Barbarous curls are contained with a ponytail; eyes extenuated with dark liner and her lips a piercing shade of red: in an understatement, she looks like a million dollars.
Then she gets a text from Austin that they're on their way and it dreads on her that she's going out on a date with her best friend and her boyfriend as well as another out of place third wheel. She slumps down in the kitchen chair and reminds herself to be braced for the absolute worst.
In some form of irony, she supposes, she notices that this is actually one of her favorite times to write. She had a one way ticket to distress, hands tangling deep within her tresses and face contorted with anxiety: and once she looks out the window the sunset bleeds into her sight, the waters hidden beyond the beach peaking into her vision as they reflect the golden ambers and flames burning through the atmosphere. She's surrounded by all this beautiful madness and it's irresistible to even her.
Austin shows up on the doorstep along with Dez, an arrogant smirk laced upon his face and conceit bloating in his eyes. She almost forgets to feel alone—having a somewhat considered double date when you're still bitterly single could almost be considered a harrowing cliché—because Austin secretes a genuine smile when he teasingly compliments her outfit and she feels as if she might be able to last at least a meager hour with these inane people.
He opens the car door for her just as Dez does for Trish and then she's suddenly worried that this might in fact be a true double date.
"I hope you realize you aren't going to get with this," she bluntly tells him as she straps her seatbelt over her torso, his gaze landing on her as a grin skates easily onto his features.
"Don't flatter yourself, Dawson," he answers briskly, playing his part as if he were a pro, "we're both playing on the singles team and that's how it's going to stay."
Her face flips into an appeased sneer, laughing with her mouth only slightly ajar before he reeves the engine to life. She leans forward and assigns herself in charge of the radio for the entire night, and he begins to argue before she lets it rest on his number one station of all time.
"I'm so in love with this song," she sighs out before rolling down her window and leaning her whole head out of it, hair flailing into her lip gloss but she just smiles wider and he laughs harder. Trish and Dez tend to their own business in the back seats and they all stick to their own worlds so intently it's almost hard to tell that they are in the same car ride.
A part of his brain keeps reminding him that he always wanted a girl that had just as good of a music sense as him and he tries really hard not to notice that all the songs she claims to love are also his favorites. The problem with that, though, is that she keeps drawing attention to herself, what with the way she's leaning half of herself out the window and squealing in positive delight every five seconds.
The thing about Ally, he observes, is that it's pretty impossible to not want to love her: only the second that thought appears in his mind he pushes it far away, blaming it on the loudness of the speakers and the unexplainable adrenaline coursing within him. He repeats to himself that it's impulse when a pretty girl shows up in a skimpy skirt with good taste in music to be intrigued: but Ally is to remain a friend, a polished law written in stone.
Still, he turns a sharp corner and her entire body makes a melodramatic flail towards him, and he just savors the moment of raucous laughter and teeth filled beams.
He makes it extremely easy, she supposes, to not want to be on a date with him: his arrogant smirk turns up every two seconds, snarky comments directed towards her outfit and feminism filing out of his mouth at a rapid rate. Although, then again, as much as he makes himself resistible, she finds herself thinking that he is just as irresistible. He takes a liking to making her laugh and she's always been intrigued by those who have a habit of doing just that, and she's counting the times she feels his prying eyes and simpering smile gazing over at her when she's being a bit too chaotic: but for the first time in her life, she can tell that the ogle isn't one of mocking ridicule.
It occurs to her that she's swimming in a deep sea of over thinking, staring too far into his eyes as if they were hers to get lost in. He holds open her door for her when they stop, greeting her with a capacious gape, features lined lightly with laughing lines and smile swept with genial. She tells herself that she could get used to this and willingly lets her mind read in between any lines that ensue.
He begins to sing in the vacant parking lot as they all lug along to the entry doors, his voice limitless as it manages to vanquish any and all silences skating past throughout the air. She wraps her fingers all throughout his own and he spins her form in and out of his own, twirling underneath the dimly lit night sky in a platitude manner. She begins to understand why all those romance stories can contain a similar scene: her skin is bubbling with emotions, heart almost as a blaze as her flushing face.
"You know, you really are a terrible dancer." He breezes his hand over hers as he manages to press his money upon the counter, a sufficient amount that was meant to pay for her as well.
"And you're mister professional, I'm assuming?" She quips back in the idiosyncrasy she'd accustomed herself too within the past twenty four hours, her brassy demeanor coming to play more and more with every passing second she spends with the taller blonde.
"Of course," he shoots back without missing a beat, "And if you really want, I guess I'd be willing to give you lessons. Not free of charge, of course: with this much talent, I'd be willing to take a minimum of thirty dollars an hour."
Ally begins to vacillate her eyes and steals the money intended to pay for her ticket, successfully snatching it from his hands and placing it within the pocket of his leather jacket.
"If this isn't a date, then I can pay for myself." She saunters into the theatre after retrieving her own ticket, his eyes loosely training over her form as he exchanges his finances for his stub. He wonders past Trish and Dez, the two bickering over the candy they were meant to be sharing as the cashier stood idly picking at her fingernails: he makes no hesitant move to duck into the theatre and avoid the confrontation.
He finds himself being drawn to the seat directly next to her, placing his oversized popcorn in her lap and pushing off his coat to let it rest behind his shoulders in the voided chair. She sends a sheepish grin towards him, plucking more and more pieces from his jumbo sized bowl and placing them within her mouth.
"Hey, I paid for that," he jeers as he swipes the bucket of popcorn back from her, poking her side as he does so on unmistakable purpose.
"Your point being?" She says in response, her hand gracefully capturing a stolen handful of kernels and chomping into it before he manages to snatch it back.
"I thought that this wasn't a date, so you can't eat the food I buy," he answers slowly, taking notice of the darkening room as the previews begin to play across the colossal screen.
"That doesn't mean friends can't share a friendly bowl of food, right?" She grabs another scoop and munches slowly, her attention fading onto the adjacent motion picture.
He laughs lightly and turns to face the front, following her lead. "Aren't you supposed to be, like, watching your carbs?" He questions in a whisper, a playful smirk wiped upon his lips.
Her caramel eyes glisten in the limited light, rolling from side to side as giggles fall from her lips. "You've definitely only gone on dates with cheerleaders," is all she says for an answer and he lets a relieved breath escape from his lungs because he was worried she might take the comment a bit too personally.
They speak in whispers for the entire time, laughing all too loudly during the scenes meant to be quiet or even throwing popcorn towards the screen during the scenes they find cliché and boring. It's a wonder why they don't get thrown out, but then they realize that they're only sharing the theatre with their two other friends and the volume of their jokes increases seconds after the recollection.
"Do you think we'll ever hold down a serious, steady conversation?" She questions as the sound of a flipping car plays within the background, metal crunching and explosives ringing out in distress.
His hand forms around his chin as he mockingly plays the part of a deep thinker, face contorted into concentration as he pretends to actually ponder her inquiry. He finally settles on the answer, "At this rate, never."
She makes a swatting motion towards his chest in response to his foolishness, her smile smirking up with circulating eyes. He begins to realize he's watching her more than the actual movie and for some reason he feels as if she could make an awful lot of money if she sold tickets specifically for a show based around her oddly neurotic and intoxicating personality.
They're about a half an hour into the showing when the both begin to assemble that, in actuality, the movie has the plot line seemingly written by a five year old and the directing skills of a slightly advanced first grader. They consider abandoning the theatre and catching up later with Trish and Dez, but decide highly against it considering the inevitable ridicule that would result if they were to be seen exiting alone together. They turn their heads to face the screen and suffer in a surprisingly comfortable silence for somewhat of strangers.
When the ending begins to roll around, the incriminatingly tedious climax wrapping tightly up, his lips fall apart in a faux yawn and then slipped his arm around her shoulders, his sneering expression telling her the same joke she's been hearing all evening. She asks him in a whisper if this is him attempting to put the moves on her and he laughs a lot harder than he should've and rapped back, questioning if it was working. Her figure folded into his chest, her continuous guffaws answering his query quite clearly.
He thinks idly how enough time has passed and it really is appropriate for him to pull his arm back by now, but her radiating heat is so comforting and he might like the feeling of skin pressed upon skin enough to ignore his numbing fingers. The last credit consumes the screen before he graciously removes his presence, and she feels a draft pass over her neck as she realizes how it feels to miss his touch.
"You can't judge if you've never even gone to one," she laughs loudly as she swings her arms in mid stride, legs bombarding towards the car in a gallop.
"Please, its common knowledge that they're terrible," he jibs back and she sends him a sneer telling him that he's stepping on some rather soft ground.
"Broadway Musicals are classic and legendary, end of story." He leans to snap open her passenger side door, Trish and Dez well on their way as they converse by themselves already seat belted in the back seats.
"They're, like, a two hour song and some random fantasy plot. Pass," he answers to her once he himself fits into his defined driver's seat, locking the belt round his waist and revving the engine to life with a flick of his key.
She winds a sigh and gasp together before turning to look out the window, distraught with argumentative manners. "I'm dragging you to Wicked or The Lion King or something, so you can see the awesomeness for yourself," she concludes wholeheartedly as she continues to feign off his stares.
He snorts in a trivial manner and spins the car abruptly around a corner. "Good luck with that, Ally."
She stays silent at this remark because the way her name flooded off his tongue as if it were a bell rung throughout her head, clear sounding and pure as if he could sing it in a thousand different tones, languages, melodies.
He pulls into a parking lot adjacent to a deteriorating burger joint and she sends him this judge mental look as if he's being the most stereotypical male in the entire country. But then her laugh bubbles to the surface and he realizes that she's actually okay with him being just that.
Trish slides herself into a booth, Dez soon to follow and that leaves the two of them awkwardly bumping elbows and gazes. She orders a root beer and downs it immediately and he can't get over how she's this unrequited present filled with incessant surprises.
Dez orders a chocolate shake and allows Trish to dip her heavily salted fries into it and they look utterly adorable as they banter over this unusual snack food. Ally catches his staring in some form of awe at the couple and she tries to distract him by throwing a fry of her own at him before he can begin to feel jealous. He, in return, sticks his mocking tongue out at her in juvenile fun and then they share a smile that's all their own.
He devours into his bacon packed monstrosity and she timidly eats away at her simplistic cheeseburger in a manner that isn't enough to qualify as graceful because she still does have her eyes closed in lust and mouth opened wide with every bite. He begins threatening to take pictures of her unladylike appetite but then she tells him to bite her and they can't stop laughing even though they've both heard funnier.
They all compile back into the ride and he takes an unexpected turn, deciding to top of the night with ice cream for dessert because he feels as if the nights not ready to be over, not quite yet.
When he voluntarily places himself next to Ally in the booth seating arrangement this time around, he notices Trish's eye tracing his every move in an analyzing manner that makes him only slightly anxious.
"I think that Austin needs to pay for Ally and Dez is obviously paying for me. It's kind of in the boyfriend code, guys," Trish says as they all consume their respective sundaes, smeared vanilla and chocolate lining the edges of their lips.
Austin awkwardly clears his throat while Ally evidently rolls her eyes and smacks a twenty clear on the table the four currently inhabit.
"You really don't have to do that," he counters, reaching his hand for his own wallet and turning to talk directly into her eyes. Her impossibly soft and docile hand curls around his wrist as she stops his movement.
"You can just catch me at the next time, I guess," she answers and he's smiling immediately because this is kind of her telling him that the night didn't go nearly as bad as he had thought it might've. "Besides, it's only ice cream."
Trish turns to face Dez and his eyes are trained at the couple blossoming right before his very eyes—at least, that's what his mind is thinking—and she breathes in before saying, "Ice cream or diamonds, you're paying because you're a gentlemen."
Austin's eyes roll back and forth at the cheap shot directed towards him, and then watches as his best friend opens and empties his wallet for the seemingly millionth time for the evening.
He is having a really hard time not noticing exactly how much of a perfect girlfriend Ally would make, given that she's sort of the most perfect girl he's ever met.
They all roll along into the car, a group folding out as Dez makes conversation about how he's teaching his turtle to balance a ball upon his nose as if he were actually a seal. Apparently the trainings coming along swimmingly and they all laugh at the unintended pun and the mutual feeling of friendship roots deep within all of them.
He's driving to Trish's house to drop off the two girls, Ally sitting across from him as per usual and they all sway together to the rhythm of the station the brunette set on the stereo. The conundrum of transportation hits him as he sets his sight upon her handed down Chevy truck, dust and dirt leaving staining streaking marks upon the chipped and faded blue paint. Dez walks Trish to her door and Austin averts his attention to informing Ally that Dez had picked him up from work before they had all joined together, and he would need a ride home.
"Can't we just drop you off?" She asks as her eyebrows lace together into a tight, confused line.
"I live on the other side of town, more towards the mall," he answers with a hesitant bite of the lip, hoping that she'll be courteous enough to give him a lift back to his own home.
"And you want me to take you?" Her eyelids flutter slightly as she blinks her long lashes together, and he begins to wonder if fatigue is immersing within her.
"Well, we've already wasted enough of Dez's gas and he lives on the next street to the right so he'll have to come all the way back, and I think it's kind of unfair to make him do that for me," he states and prays that she doesn't live in this neighborhood as well.
She sighs and rests an elbow upon the sill of the tinted window, a hand meshing into the depths of her hair. "I guess I could."
He thanks her sincerely and clicks open his car door, repeating the action once he works his way to her side as well. They say loose and slow goodbyes to Trish and Dez, the two both disappearing behind doors: one connecting to a house and the other to vehicle.
She unlocks her own truck and he leaps into the dinosaur, rust rimming her hubcaps and door handle. He almost remarks about her driving rather than him, but then he latches onto the fact that she's flipping her keys around between her fingers as if they were her prized possessions and somehow knows there's no way he'll be able to convince her into a swapping of seats.
They make it half a street and one stop light before she flipped on her crackling speakers, finding the quiet a tad unsettling as nerves buzzed underneath her skin. The downbeat of a familiar song bursts out into the air and he watches as her sleep filled form is transformed into liveliness.
"No way!" She squeals loud and uncivilly at once, pulling out the clips within her hair and shaking the tresses in allowance to fall free. Her hand flicks the volume dial to maximum, and then he holds his sides because he's laughing extremely hard and doesn't know if it's even going to be possible for him to stop.
He imagined her having to drive him home would be stuffy, glances being thrown while the other wasn't looking and hands cautiously staying in laps. Here he is, though, head and hands leaning out the window with the wind licking into his scalp and the radio playing 'Fat Bottomed Girls' as deafening as it possibly can. She rolls down her window as well and raises a high and defiant fist into the nightly nippy air, a smile wide as it sings along with the lyrics.
She swivels onto the curb and hops out with the radio still playing, him quick to follow her lead because she's sort of dancing on a turning boulevard that's oddly dead for the evening. He can see the overlapping waters of the ocean tussle against one another as he realizes she had traveled down a street that was leading to a back road to the beach and momentarily wonders if this was her intention.
She's quite spastic and quirky as she throws her hands and hips about, but it's endearing none the less and he doesn't hesitate to copy her flailing actions. He begins to sing along with the chorus, much like her, and then he begins to intertwine their hands as he did earlier in the movie theatre parking lot as he spins her around once more. She fits easy within him, being bound to his grip and she glided her figure to match the rocking beat.
The last verse courses from the speakers and he pulls her from behind, her backside pressed tightly into his torso and his arms overlap around her own front.
Speaking rather than singing, he leans to meet her ear and says swiftly into it, "Fat bottomed girl, you make the rocking world go round."
She giggles and lets her head rest in the crook of his elbow, eyelids lightly clasping together as she slips further and further into him. He takes a moment to remember that he's being slightly offensive, calling the skinniest twig he's ever met fat: but he also knows that she's evolved enough to know he's only calling her curvy and even then it's only a song that he didn't even write.
He sways them from side to side, silence so incredibly quiet that they both hear the waves ringing and thrashing in the distance. Neither of them recognize the next song that plays out but it's talking of first time touches and fresh feelings for someone that might not appear to be the right one but somehow manages to be exactly that: it kind of sounds perfect so they continue to move along with it and not utter a word to destroy the wonderful conversation they're having.
He can feel her heart beat pulsing and thriving beneath her cream coated skin, and he can tell it's fluttering slowly because she's falling unconscious in his safe arms: he likes the way she feels so alive, even when she's slipping away from the world. Her face is shutting down for the day, eyes easily pressed together and lips forming into a loose line. He pulls apart from her and then she stirs once more, holding onto his hand as he ushers her into the passenger side.
She stays awake to mumble out directions to her house, telling him when to take a turn or when to stay on a certain street. She finally sits straight and points to a light blue two story house sitting restfully on a corner, lovely and complete with navy shutters and a wide bay window peering into her kitchen. He places his bearings as he opens her door, knowing his house is a solid twenty blocks or so north and walking at this time of night isn't in the least desirable: but he'll do it, because he knows she's a bit too wiped out to be driving.
She falls out of her seat and stumbles into her house, catching her keys as he tosses them softly to her and she turns right before she shuts the unexplainable unlocked door for the night, making blazing eye contact with him for a thriving five seconds.
"Thank you," she rung out clearer with each syllable, her heels swiveling inside and then he stands still to stare at the closed oak door. He's not completely sure what she's thanking him for because in his opinion, it's really he who should be thanking her: she's sort of unintentionally reminding him what it's like to be the kind of easy and limitless happiness.
A/N: I'm sorry, but I hate this chapter with a passion. It is sloppy and I have concluded that I am terrible at fluff. I hope you all somehow managed to like it, and chapter four should be up within this next month, what with all of the new episode inspiration in May :) love you guys
xoxo
