Post by Griff on May 26, 2013 3:45:47 GMT 10
Title: Pandora's Box
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 783
Pairing: George/Roger
Round/Fight: 2B
Summary: (Vampire AU pt.7) If you give a mouse a cookie...
-
Roger’s sundown visit turned out to be a one-off, much to George’s tentative relief and paranoid dismay. After two weeks, he stopped hiding away in his house like a mob rat and returned to managing his little corner of Corus’s underbelly. Another month later, he stopped jumping at shadows, realizing lurking in dark corners was never Roger’s taste, anyway. Life, eventually, seemed to go back to normal.
Then he turned twenty-six and a new wardrobe appeared spare inches from his front door with a loopy hand-written note attached.
I like to see you in nice things.
Because the reminder that the photo on his fridge watched him every waking moment was creepy or anything. What was worse was when he brought the gift inside out of sheer desperation to keep the neighborhood spies from nosing around and found out that, not only were all of the clothes ridiculously expensive with the correct size on the label, most of them had been fitted.
“Oh, hell no.” George objected, pulling the picture off the fridge. “There is a line, bloodsucker, and being able to judge clothes by staring at me in a towel every morning is so far across the line, I can’t even begin to tell you.” He dropped the photo in the top box and closed it, looking for some sort of tape to keep it secure.
The boxes spent the next few days taking up the living room while he deftly dodged his mother’s question with a hum and shrug as he slipped out the door every afternoon without a backwards glance. He should have known that wouldn’t work. It was almost expected that his mother would play the ‘My house, my rules’ card and sorting the contents of each box neatly into his tiny closet. Then she pinned the photo on the wall next to his bed.
The worst part was, George was so exhausted by the Claws trying to rip their way through the redlight district and hook the girls on heroine, he didn’t notice until the day he came home late to find Roger Conte having evening tea with his mother on her day off.
“I’ve rarely seen him,” Roger’s voice carried from the kitchen, “but the lack of sleep is obvious. I worry, I’m sure you understand. George is such a rare delight, the world just wouldn’t be the same without him. I just want to keep him safe.”
Eleni sighed and took a sip from her mug, “Don’t we all?”
“True,” Roger nodded, before turning in a disturbingly nonchalant act, as if he hadn’t none George was there the moment he turned the doorknob. “Ah! Speak of the devil,” He chuckled with that same demented mocking he used the night George was attacked. Skewed humor about his own nature seemed to amuse him endlessly. “It’s about time you were home. Your mother was beside herself.”
“Oh, stop that,” Eleni chided, smacking the undead murder machine on the hand in a soft reprimand. “Your friend insisted on waiting for you and I figured a friendly face would do you some good.”
George grunted, glaring harshly at Roger.
“I’ve been watching you,” He purred lightly. “You haven’t been sleeping. I felt I needed to intervene. Surely I can help you with this... little problem.”
“I am not giving you permission to eat the hearts of a rival gang just to make my life a little easier. Get out.” George loved his mother, he did, and he never managed to love her more than when she had the good sense to leave his illegal activities to him, no matter how much she disapproved.
Roger, however, simply rolled his eyes and sigh, glancing at his mother as he spoke, “George’s penchant for drama never ceases to amuse me.” Turning back to him, the vampire furrowed his brow in concern. “But, honestly, George. I do worry. If you’re going to throw yourself into devious situations without telling me, the least you could do is humor me with the clothes. I told you, you deserve nice things.”
“No,” George snapped, “You said ‘I like to see you in nice things’, which is so many layers of stalker at my window.”
“Hardly.” He sniffed indignantly, “I would never.”
George just slumped. “Are you going to kill me?” Because, honestly, he was exhausted. “Or my mother?” It was important to clarified.
“Mm,” Roger sipped his tea. “No, not tonight I don’t think. Go,” he waved. “Sleep. I’ll make sure no one commits arson while you drool on your pillow.”
George grunted again and sighed, “Yeah. Hate you. G’night.” He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Brain him with a pot if he doesn’t leave by dawn.”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 783
Pairing: George/Roger
Round/Fight: 2B
Summary: (Vampire AU pt.7) If you give a mouse a cookie...
-
Roger’s sundown visit turned out to be a one-off, much to George’s tentative relief and paranoid dismay. After two weeks, he stopped hiding away in his house like a mob rat and returned to managing his little corner of Corus’s underbelly. Another month later, he stopped jumping at shadows, realizing lurking in dark corners was never Roger’s taste, anyway. Life, eventually, seemed to go back to normal.
Then he turned twenty-six and a new wardrobe appeared spare inches from his front door with a loopy hand-written note attached.
I like to see you in nice things.
Because the reminder that the photo on his fridge watched him every waking moment was creepy or anything. What was worse was when he brought the gift inside out of sheer desperation to keep the neighborhood spies from nosing around and found out that, not only were all of the clothes ridiculously expensive with the correct size on the label, most of them had been fitted.
“Oh, hell no.” George objected, pulling the picture off the fridge. “There is a line, bloodsucker, and being able to judge clothes by staring at me in a towel every morning is so far across the line, I can’t even begin to tell you.” He dropped the photo in the top box and closed it, looking for some sort of tape to keep it secure.
The boxes spent the next few days taking up the living room while he deftly dodged his mother’s question with a hum and shrug as he slipped out the door every afternoon without a backwards glance. He should have known that wouldn’t work. It was almost expected that his mother would play the ‘My house, my rules’ card and sorting the contents of each box neatly into his tiny closet. Then she pinned the photo on the wall next to his bed.
The worst part was, George was so exhausted by the Claws trying to rip their way through the redlight district and hook the girls on heroine, he didn’t notice until the day he came home late to find Roger Conte having evening tea with his mother on her day off.
“I’ve rarely seen him,” Roger’s voice carried from the kitchen, “but the lack of sleep is obvious. I worry, I’m sure you understand. George is such a rare delight, the world just wouldn’t be the same without him. I just want to keep him safe.”
Eleni sighed and took a sip from her mug, “Don’t we all?”
“True,” Roger nodded, before turning in a disturbingly nonchalant act, as if he hadn’t none George was there the moment he turned the doorknob. “Ah! Speak of the devil,” He chuckled with that same demented mocking he used the night George was attacked. Skewed humor about his own nature seemed to amuse him endlessly. “It’s about time you were home. Your mother was beside herself.”
“Oh, stop that,” Eleni chided, smacking the undead murder machine on the hand in a soft reprimand. “Your friend insisted on waiting for you and I figured a friendly face would do you some good.”
George grunted, glaring harshly at Roger.
“I’ve been watching you,” He purred lightly. “You haven’t been sleeping. I felt I needed to intervene. Surely I can help you with this... little problem.”
“I am not giving you permission to eat the hearts of a rival gang just to make my life a little easier. Get out.” George loved his mother, he did, and he never managed to love her more than when she had the good sense to leave his illegal activities to him, no matter how much she disapproved.
Roger, however, simply rolled his eyes and sigh, glancing at his mother as he spoke, “George’s penchant for drama never ceases to amuse me.” Turning back to him, the vampire furrowed his brow in concern. “But, honestly, George. I do worry. If you’re going to throw yourself into devious situations without telling me, the least you could do is humor me with the clothes. I told you, you deserve nice things.”
“No,” George snapped, “You said ‘I like to see you in nice things’, which is so many layers of stalker at my window.”
“Hardly.” He sniffed indignantly, “I would never.”
George just slumped. “Are you going to kill me?” Because, honestly, he was exhausted. “Or my mother?” It was important to clarified.
“Mm,” Roger sipped his tea. “No, not tonight I don’t think. Go,” he waved. “Sleep. I’ll make sure no one commits arson while you drool on your pillow.”
George grunted again and sighed, “Yeah. Hate you. G’night.” He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Brain him with a pot if he doesn’t leave by dawn.”