Post by Griff on May 26, 2013 5:03:18 GMT 10
Title: Saint Roger
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 551
Pairing: George/Roger
Round/Fight: 2B
WARNING: Attempted murder
Summary: (Modern AU, Country Boy!Cooper Pt7) George saints Roger.
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George Cooper had full intention of knocking out Roger Conte’s teeth the first time they met, but there was something about the man the just insisted tearing off his pants would be more worthwhile. To his credit, it was true. However, it didn’t change the face that he was an absolutely terrible person and greatly enjoyed his career choice of stealing other people’s livelihoods for an obscene hourly charge.
It meant that, on occasion, very angry people would find out where he lived and caused problems.
The last time it happened, Roger had been home alone and ended up with a spectacular black eye and objecting jaw before building security arrived to haul the man down to the police station. They set up new cameras in the service entrances, but, desperate people got creative.
One of the previous visitors actually managed to rappel onto the building from one of the neighboring high rises. That one was George’s first encounter. It ended with her crying over his momma’s hot chocolate and deciding that, since her career as a... something or another was over, she could go follow her dream to join an artists’ commune and live off the land.
This one, however, hadn’t done any funny business to gain access to the apartment complex. He’d just waved his badge and walked right up, pointing his gun clean between Roger’s eyes when he answered the door and pulled the trigger.
George’s ass was grass, he knew, for beating the crap out of a CPD officer, but the fact Roger was only alive because he was a paranoid bastard and expected the worst out of everyone rubbed him all sorts of wrong ways. After building security showed up (again) loudly declaring that he needed to put the officer down, Roger tottered out of the apartment and used his spider-spun silk tie to blot the blood on George’s knuckles. Roger probably didn’t mind because it already was covered in gunpowder, but George decided it was still sweet enough to be touched and hoped to the gods that Roger knew a good lawyer who could claim a convincing explanation for his gross overuse of force.
Sometimes, people didn’t mind when someone tried to kill a lawyer, but this one was George’s and he had a really nice butt.
“This is becoming excessive,” Roger noted, looking around the chaotic mess squeezed into his penthouse foyer. “No one’s actually tried to kill me before.”
“Yes, they have,” George groused, “They just weren’t as smart about it.”
“Potato, Potahto.” Roger huffed, “I’m really unconcerned about their intentions. It’s their effectiveness that’s the problem.”
“I can’t suppose I could convince you to change fields and start defending scarred orphans for charity?”
“I already give you obscene control over my check book,” Roger checked his nails and frowned. “If you wish for me to keep you in the means you’ve become accustom, I suggest you stop asking me to provide for the orphans and simply open a charity to do it for you.”
“And this,” George sighed, “is why no one likes you.”
“I can’t understand why,” Roger shrugged. “I’m happy. You’re happy. The orphans are as happy as orphans can be. I’m practically a saint.”
“Saint Roger, Patron Saint of the Road to Hell.”
“I like it. Write that down.”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 551
Pairing: George/Roger
Round/Fight: 2B
WARNING: Attempted murder
Summary: (Modern AU, Country Boy!Cooper Pt7) George saints Roger.
-
George Cooper had full intention of knocking out Roger Conte’s teeth the first time they met, but there was something about the man the just insisted tearing off his pants would be more worthwhile. To his credit, it was true. However, it didn’t change the face that he was an absolutely terrible person and greatly enjoyed his career choice of stealing other people’s livelihoods for an obscene hourly charge.
It meant that, on occasion, very angry people would find out where he lived and caused problems.
The last time it happened, Roger had been home alone and ended up with a spectacular black eye and objecting jaw before building security arrived to haul the man down to the police station. They set up new cameras in the service entrances, but, desperate people got creative.
One of the previous visitors actually managed to rappel onto the building from one of the neighboring high rises. That one was George’s first encounter. It ended with her crying over his momma’s hot chocolate and deciding that, since her career as a... something or another was over, she could go follow her dream to join an artists’ commune and live off the land.
This one, however, hadn’t done any funny business to gain access to the apartment complex. He’d just waved his badge and walked right up, pointing his gun clean between Roger’s eyes when he answered the door and pulled the trigger.
George’s ass was grass, he knew, for beating the crap out of a CPD officer, but the fact Roger was only alive because he was a paranoid bastard and expected the worst out of everyone rubbed him all sorts of wrong ways. After building security showed up (again) loudly declaring that he needed to put the officer down, Roger tottered out of the apartment and used his spider-spun silk tie to blot the blood on George’s knuckles. Roger probably didn’t mind because it already was covered in gunpowder, but George decided it was still sweet enough to be touched and hoped to the gods that Roger knew a good lawyer who could claim a convincing explanation for his gross overuse of force.
Sometimes, people didn’t mind when someone tried to kill a lawyer, but this one was George’s and he had a really nice butt.
“This is becoming excessive,” Roger noted, looking around the chaotic mess squeezed into his penthouse foyer. “No one’s actually tried to kill me before.”
“Yes, they have,” George groused, “They just weren’t as smart about it.”
“Potato, Potahto.” Roger huffed, “I’m really unconcerned about their intentions. It’s their effectiveness that’s the problem.”
“I can’t suppose I could convince you to change fields and start defending scarred orphans for charity?”
“I already give you obscene control over my check book,” Roger checked his nails and frowned. “If you wish for me to keep you in the means you’ve become accustom, I suggest you stop asking me to provide for the orphans and simply open a charity to do it for you.”
“And this,” George sighed, “is why no one likes you.”
“I can’t understand why,” Roger shrugged. “I’m happy. You’re happy. The orphans are as happy as orphans can be. I’m practically a saint.”
“Saint Roger, Patron Saint of the Road to Hell.”
“I like it. Write that down.”