o darling, you're charming
Rayanne. Brian. Set in some ambiguous time in canon.
849 words. PG.
Summary: It's the summer and Angela is somewhere else, so there's no one around to see it when Rayanne throws her leg over Brian's and sits in his lap. "Golly gee whiz, Krakow," she says, "I do believe you're blushing."
Note: Written for this prompt.
It's the summer and Angela is somewhere else, so there's no one around to see it when Rayanne throws her leg over Brian's and sits in his lap. "Golly gee whiz, Krakow," she says, "I do believe you're blushing."
Angela is somewhere else. With Jordan, maybe. Rickie left a while ago because Rickie always leaves really early, though no one's quite sure where he disappears to. They're at a party – maybe that's the most important detail? Brian is only here to be the designated driver.
Rayanne isn't supposed to be drunk, but, well. Rayanne kamikazes off the wagon now and then.
"Get off me," he says, impatient and slightly terrified. Her hair twists and twirls around his face, barrettes knocking against his cheeks. She smells a little like booze, a little like pot, a little like jasmine.
"You're so nice, Krakow, did anyone ever tell you how nice you are?"
"Sure," Brian says, just to get her to shut up. "Now will you get off me?"
"Mm." Rayanne only sits back a little, her knees digging into his sides and her boots digging into his knees. She and Angela came wearing the same dark red lipstick. Rayanne's shirt gapes a little at her chest, revealing a lacy bra cup. "You're a virgin, right, Krakow?" She laughs. "That's a funny name, Krakow. Like one of those superhero comic book action bubbles, you know?" She mimes a punch, then an explosion, her fingers fanned in showy jazz hands. "Kra-kow!"
He is probably the most uncomfortable he's ever been in his life. "You're drunk."
"No shit, Sherlock." She raps her knuckles against his temple. "So are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Jeez, keep up. A virgin. You are one, aren't you? You didn't lose it to a girl at tuba camp or something, did you?"
She's got about fifty earrings in her ears and they clink against each other as she tilts her head, eyeing him.
Brian coughs, clearing his throat. "What's it to you?"
"Are you blushing?" Rayanne laughs and presses her fingertips against his cheeks. "That is just adorable. You are, you totally are. You are, like, a little blushing virgin who doesn't drink or run red lights."
Brian isn't sure what that has to do with anything. He's annoyed by her – he's always been annoyed by her – and all he wants is for her to get off him. She doesn't, though, reaching past him for the half-full bottle of beer she'd set down before climbing onto him. Her breasts press against his chest and he goes completely, utterly still.
"It's okay, you know," Rayanne continues. She throws back about half the remaining beer in one go. "I like that. It's like Angela, you're, like…pure. Krakow." His eyes zip up to hers and he realizes belatedly that he was staring at that gap in her shirt, the dark green of her bra. "It ever bother you? Being pure?"
Her voice has gained that mocking edge it often takes with him but her smile is playful, puckish.
"Shut up, Rayanne," he says. Her name sounds funny in his mouth. He's not sure he's called her anything besides Rayanne Graff since seventh grade – like Jordan Catalano she's one of those fringe-y myth figures Brian could never quite touch. "It doesn't. Bother me. I'm not – I'm not pure."
"So you're not a virgin?" She purses her lips and arches a thin eyebrow. "Is you or ain't you, Bri-guy?" She finishes off the drink and loops her arms around his neck, bottle cool against his nape. "I could help you out if you want."
His voice is slightly more strangled when he speaks. He is acutely aware of the fact that she is straddling him and that she smells so good. "What?"
"De-virginate you," Rayanne says. "I'm, like, totally a pro. I was Tino's cousin's first, I was, like, super gentle."
Brian stares at her. "You're drunk. You're so drunk. You're, like, the drunkest person I've ever seen."
But she's looking at him so intently, her lower lip sticking out just a little. It's not petulant or pouty, exactly, just thoughtful. She's studying his face and her own is so close, close enough for Brian to see the beauty mark dotting her cheek, clouded by face powder. Her tongue dips out to wet her lower lip. He wonders what her lipstick tastes like.
"You," she murmurs, soft, guileless. Brian tilts his face up, thinking she might – "Are so hard up." Then Rayanne laughs, loud and discordant, and pushes up off him. "Jeez, keep in in your pants, Kra-kow."
She mimes another little punch. Brian kind of wishes she had just actually punched him, it would be less humiliating.
He hates her. He hates all of them, but her and Angela especially. He guesses Rickie's an okay guy, though.
Rayanne reaches over to fish in his shirt pocket for his keys. "C'mon, driver," she says, tossing them up in the air and leaving him no choice but to scramble to catch them. "Take me home."
Brian, of course, does.
He doesn't wonder how Angela gets home.
Rayanne. Brian. Set in some ambiguous time in canon.
849 words. PG.
Summary: It's the summer and Angela is somewhere else, so there's no one around to see it when Rayanne throws her leg over Brian's and sits in his lap. "Golly gee whiz, Krakow," she says, "I do believe you're blushing."
Note: Written for this prompt.
It's the summer and Angela is somewhere else, so there's no one around to see it when Rayanne throws her leg over Brian's and sits in his lap. "Golly gee whiz, Krakow," she says, "I do believe you're blushing."
Angela is somewhere else. With Jordan, maybe. Rickie left a while ago because Rickie always leaves really early, though no one's quite sure where he disappears to. They're at a party – maybe that's the most important detail? Brian is only here to be the designated driver.
Rayanne isn't supposed to be drunk, but, well. Rayanne kamikazes off the wagon now and then.
"Get off me," he says, impatient and slightly terrified. Her hair twists and twirls around his face, barrettes knocking against his cheeks. She smells a little like booze, a little like pot, a little like jasmine.
"You're so nice, Krakow, did anyone ever tell you how nice you are?"
"Sure," Brian says, just to get her to shut up. "Now will you get off me?"
"Mm." Rayanne only sits back a little, her knees digging into his sides and her boots digging into his knees. She and Angela came wearing the same dark red lipstick. Rayanne's shirt gapes a little at her chest, revealing a lacy bra cup. "You're a virgin, right, Krakow?" She laughs. "That's a funny name, Krakow. Like one of those superhero comic book action bubbles, you know?" She mimes a punch, then an explosion, her fingers fanned in showy jazz hands. "Kra-kow!"
He is probably the most uncomfortable he's ever been in his life. "You're drunk."
"No shit, Sherlock." She raps her knuckles against his temple. "So are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Jeez, keep up. A virgin. You are one, aren't you? You didn't lose it to a girl at tuba camp or something, did you?"
She's got about fifty earrings in her ears and they clink against each other as she tilts her head, eyeing him.
Brian coughs, clearing his throat. "What's it to you?"
"Are you blushing?" Rayanne laughs and presses her fingertips against his cheeks. "That is just adorable. You are, you totally are. You are, like, a little blushing virgin who doesn't drink or run red lights."
Brian isn't sure what that has to do with anything. He's annoyed by her – he's always been annoyed by her – and all he wants is for her to get off him. She doesn't, though, reaching past him for the half-full bottle of beer she'd set down before climbing onto him. Her breasts press against his chest and he goes completely, utterly still.
"It's okay, you know," Rayanne continues. She throws back about half the remaining beer in one go. "I like that. It's like Angela, you're, like…pure. Krakow." His eyes zip up to hers and he realizes belatedly that he was staring at that gap in her shirt, the dark green of her bra. "It ever bother you? Being pure?"
Her voice has gained that mocking edge it often takes with him but her smile is playful, puckish.
"Shut up, Rayanne," he says. Her name sounds funny in his mouth. He's not sure he's called her anything besides Rayanne Graff since seventh grade – like Jordan Catalano she's one of those fringe-y myth figures Brian could never quite touch. "It doesn't. Bother me. I'm not – I'm not pure."
"So you're not a virgin?" She purses her lips and arches a thin eyebrow. "Is you or ain't you, Bri-guy?" She finishes off the drink and loops her arms around his neck, bottle cool against his nape. "I could help you out if you want."
His voice is slightly more strangled when he speaks. He is acutely aware of the fact that she is straddling him and that she smells so good. "What?"
"De-virginate you," Rayanne says. "I'm, like, totally a pro. I was Tino's cousin's first, I was, like, super gentle."
Brian stares at her. "You're drunk. You're so drunk. You're, like, the drunkest person I've ever seen."
But she's looking at him so intently, her lower lip sticking out just a little. It's not petulant or pouty, exactly, just thoughtful. She's studying his face and her own is so close, close enough for Brian to see the beauty mark dotting her cheek, clouded by face powder. Her tongue dips out to wet her lower lip. He wonders what her lipstick tastes like.
"You," she murmurs, soft, guileless. Brian tilts his face up, thinking she might – "Are so hard up." Then Rayanne laughs, loud and discordant, and pushes up off him. "Jeez, keep in in your pants, Kra-kow."
She mimes another little punch. Brian kind of wishes she had just actually punched him, it would be less humiliating.
He hates her. He hates all of them, but her and Angela especially. He guesses Rickie's an okay guy, though.
Rayanne reaches over to fish in his shirt pocket for his keys. "C'mon, driver," she says, tossing them up in the air and leaving him no choice but to scramble to catch them. "Take me home."
Brian, of course, does.
He doesn't wonder how Angela gets home.