Stacy's Mom
Summary: Teenage!Havelock lusts, his friend thinks he's weird.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for Wayne, Stacy and her mom.
*
Havelock Vetinari had nipped out back of the Guild to have some private space. It was a hot day in Ankh-Morpork and he had shed his black student's robes and bunched the sleeves of his white collared shirt up to somewhere around his elbows. He watched the action behind the Guild from a second- story ledge, sitting in the sun. It was rather pleasant actually, he had to admit to himself as he absently chewed on his much-abused pencil.
Havelock tended to be hard on pencils. No one could explain why, but he had a mindless habit of gnawing the poor things to death. He had attempted to break himself of the habit once, but it hadn't worked.
Recently, Mindless Downey had suggested that he pierce his tongue in order to have something to chew on that would hurt. Havelock suspected that Downey's motives were something along the lines of 'watch-the-loser-bite- through-his-tongue' but Havelock had thought it to be disturbingly clever, for Downey. And so he'd gotten really, really drunk one night and had it done. And his navel, on a drunken impulse. It had worked until the piercing had healed, at which point he'd gone back to savaging innocent pencils.
"You're missing Advanced Poisons, dork," someone said, startling Havelock out of his thoughts. He turned around slowly, eyebrow carefully raised.
"So are you," he said pointedly to the boy standing behind him. The other boy was named Wayne Broquelin. From Llamedos, or something. He was of medium height and stocky with fair hair and a frightening amount of freckles. He was also not the most motivated student at the Guild.
"Yes," Wayne said slowly, sitting on the ledge next to Havelock, "but I'm not planning on even taking the final exam."
Havelock snorted. "Your parents payed your way through school and you're not even going to take the final? What are you planning on doing, Mr. Motivation?"
"I'm going to play piano at posh balls and what have you," Wayne replied. "No killing really involved. Oh, and you do get good money." The two boys sat there for a moment before Wayne spoke again. "What are you planning on doing?" The freckled boy watched his counterpart shrug. "Oh, come on. It's our last year here; you ought to have some idea."
"Stay here, maybe," Havelock said faintly. He shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I'll even go with Downey and that bunch on that whole Grand Sneer nonsense."
"You'd kill yourself after the first two days. Don't be daft, Havelock, you'll never be able to get a leg up on Downey and that bunch." Wayne fought back a wince when Havelock sharply turned and icy blue, analytical stare on him. He hated that damn stare.
"What makes you say that?"
"Nothing, gods, keep you pants on." Wayne huffed slightly and Havelock turned back toward the action. Silence reigned for a few moments, slightly less comfortable than the first but in no way uncomfortable enough to dull the pleasant heat of the day.
"Who's that?" Havelock asked suddenly, startling Wayne, who had been cat- napping. He leaned over and pointed vaguely with his pencil.
"The girl?" Wayne asked, squinting slightly. His face was puzzled for a minute, before sliding into a wolfish grin. "Fourth Year. Her name's Stacy, or something. Man, I'd like to do her."
"You and every other male in the school," Havelock muttered distractedly. "Who's next to her?"
"Next to . . .? Oh. That's uh . . . Mrs. Stacy. Her mom," Wayne clarified. He watched Havelock's face for a little before rolling his eyes. "Havelock, you're lusting after a woman who could be your mother."
"But she's not my mother," Havelock said faintly. "She's nice."
Wayne snorted. "Do my eyes decieve me? Is the impassable Havelock Vetinari actually desiring sex of all things? The end is upon us!" Wayne's dramatic wails were cut short when a blowgun whapped him on the back of the head. "Dude! Improper use of equipment!"
"She has got it going on," Havelock said, in his own little world.
Wayne sighed and patted his friend on the back. "You're a sick freak, my friend. You should consider a career in politics." Wayne had braced himself for another smack, but was puzzled to see Havelock's eyes go wide and glaze over. The pencil dangled from his fingers, apparently forgotten. "You alright there?"
"Politics," Havelock muttered. "Politics. Wayne, you're a genius." He practically jumped to his feet.
"What is with you today?" Wayne asked, standing up. He was slightly grouchy about the fact that he was no longer lounging in the sun.
"I have had an epiphany," Havelock said, shrugging his robe back on to his shoulders.
"What?"
Havelock spun around. Wayne was being stared at again, but this time it was with the pyromaniac, "evil genius" glint that he was more used to. "I am going to be the Patrician of this dung heap."
"Well you're certainly batty enough for it," Wayne snapped. He stiffened when Havelock grabbed his shoulders and kissed him. "What the bloody hell was that for?!"
"For giving me the idea!" Havelock said, grinning. "Downey will be under my thumb and the economy and foreign affairs and . . . and it'll be amazing!"
Wayne gave his friend a wary look. "Alright, dude, don't have an orgasm. It's just politics." Then, with a touch of sarcasm he added: "Write me if you need a pianist at your inauguration."
*
Approximately ten years later . . .
*
Wayne wasn't quite making the money he'd envisioned when he left the Guild. True, he was one of the best pianists on the Disk, but turns out posh balls don't pay as well as one might think.
That's why the money came a surprise. AM$15,000 doesn't just show up with a mysterious note attached to it every day. Wayne stared in wonder and lust at the money for a few minutes before his hand weakly picked up the note. It had the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork's seal on the back. His stomach gave a slight lurch. Carefully he cracked the seal and unfolded the letter. He recognized the barely-legible handwriting at once and his face broke into an insane grin when he read the only three words written on the paper.
"Told you so."
END
A/n: Just a brief one-shot to let you all know I'm still among the living.
Summary: Teenage!Havelock lusts, his friend thinks he's weird.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for Wayne, Stacy and her mom.
*
Havelock Vetinari had nipped out back of the Guild to have some private space. It was a hot day in Ankh-Morpork and he had shed his black student's robes and bunched the sleeves of his white collared shirt up to somewhere around his elbows. He watched the action behind the Guild from a second- story ledge, sitting in the sun. It was rather pleasant actually, he had to admit to himself as he absently chewed on his much-abused pencil.
Havelock tended to be hard on pencils. No one could explain why, but he had a mindless habit of gnawing the poor things to death. He had attempted to break himself of the habit once, but it hadn't worked.
Recently, Mindless Downey had suggested that he pierce his tongue in order to have something to chew on that would hurt. Havelock suspected that Downey's motives were something along the lines of 'watch-the-loser-bite- through-his-tongue' but Havelock had thought it to be disturbingly clever, for Downey. And so he'd gotten really, really drunk one night and had it done. And his navel, on a drunken impulse. It had worked until the piercing had healed, at which point he'd gone back to savaging innocent pencils.
"You're missing Advanced Poisons, dork," someone said, startling Havelock out of his thoughts. He turned around slowly, eyebrow carefully raised.
"So are you," he said pointedly to the boy standing behind him. The other boy was named Wayne Broquelin. From Llamedos, or something. He was of medium height and stocky with fair hair and a frightening amount of freckles. He was also not the most motivated student at the Guild.
"Yes," Wayne said slowly, sitting on the ledge next to Havelock, "but I'm not planning on even taking the final exam."
Havelock snorted. "Your parents payed your way through school and you're not even going to take the final? What are you planning on doing, Mr. Motivation?"
"I'm going to play piano at posh balls and what have you," Wayne replied. "No killing really involved. Oh, and you do get good money." The two boys sat there for a moment before Wayne spoke again. "What are you planning on doing?" The freckled boy watched his counterpart shrug. "Oh, come on. It's our last year here; you ought to have some idea."
"Stay here, maybe," Havelock said faintly. He shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I'll even go with Downey and that bunch on that whole Grand Sneer nonsense."
"You'd kill yourself after the first two days. Don't be daft, Havelock, you'll never be able to get a leg up on Downey and that bunch." Wayne fought back a wince when Havelock sharply turned and icy blue, analytical stare on him. He hated that damn stare.
"What makes you say that?"
"Nothing, gods, keep you pants on." Wayne huffed slightly and Havelock turned back toward the action. Silence reigned for a few moments, slightly less comfortable than the first but in no way uncomfortable enough to dull the pleasant heat of the day.
"Who's that?" Havelock asked suddenly, startling Wayne, who had been cat- napping. He leaned over and pointed vaguely with his pencil.
"The girl?" Wayne asked, squinting slightly. His face was puzzled for a minute, before sliding into a wolfish grin. "Fourth Year. Her name's Stacy, or something. Man, I'd like to do her."
"You and every other male in the school," Havelock muttered distractedly. "Who's next to her?"
"Next to . . .? Oh. That's uh . . . Mrs. Stacy. Her mom," Wayne clarified. He watched Havelock's face for a little before rolling his eyes. "Havelock, you're lusting after a woman who could be your mother."
"But she's not my mother," Havelock said faintly. "She's nice."
Wayne snorted. "Do my eyes decieve me? Is the impassable Havelock Vetinari actually desiring sex of all things? The end is upon us!" Wayne's dramatic wails were cut short when a blowgun whapped him on the back of the head. "Dude! Improper use of equipment!"
"She has got it going on," Havelock said, in his own little world.
Wayne sighed and patted his friend on the back. "You're a sick freak, my friend. You should consider a career in politics." Wayne had braced himself for another smack, but was puzzled to see Havelock's eyes go wide and glaze over. The pencil dangled from his fingers, apparently forgotten. "You alright there?"
"Politics," Havelock muttered. "Politics. Wayne, you're a genius." He practically jumped to his feet.
"What is with you today?" Wayne asked, standing up. He was slightly grouchy about the fact that he was no longer lounging in the sun.
"I have had an epiphany," Havelock said, shrugging his robe back on to his shoulders.
"What?"
Havelock spun around. Wayne was being stared at again, but this time it was with the pyromaniac, "evil genius" glint that he was more used to. "I am going to be the Patrician of this dung heap."
"Well you're certainly batty enough for it," Wayne snapped. He stiffened when Havelock grabbed his shoulders and kissed him. "What the bloody hell was that for?!"
"For giving me the idea!" Havelock said, grinning. "Downey will be under my thumb and the economy and foreign affairs and . . . and it'll be amazing!"
Wayne gave his friend a wary look. "Alright, dude, don't have an orgasm. It's just politics." Then, with a touch of sarcasm he added: "Write me if you need a pianist at your inauguration."
*
Approximately ten years later . . .
*
Wayne wasn't quite making the money he'd envisioned when he left the Guild. True, he was one of the best pianists on the Disk, but turns out posh balls don't pay as well as one might think.
That's why the money came a surprise. AM$15,000 doesn't just show up with a mysterious note attached to it every day. Wayne stared in wonder and lust at the money for a few minutes before his hand weakly picked up the note. It had the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork's seal on the back. His stomach gave a slight lurch. Carefully he cracked the seal and unfolded the letter. He recognized the barely-legible handwriting at once and his face broke into an insane grin when he read the only three words written on the paper.
"Told you so."
END
A/n: Just a brief one-shot to let you all know I'm still among the living.