Icon ficlet #4
Apr. 5th, 2004 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pauraque_bkFor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dragonessasmith, who requested a fic based on this icon. The actor is Tim Spall, who of course will be playing Peter in the PoA movie.
336 words, PG for language and innuendo.
Screwball Comedy
He wakes up to a strange pounding noise, and the thick taste of stale wine coating his tongue. His right hand is numb and starting to tingle where it's pinned under his hip. He buries his face harder in the pillow.
The pounding again--
Muffled: 'Peter? You in there? It's James!'
Peter's head jerks up, and he's suddenly aware that he's lying there with no blankets, bare-arsed-- It's the *door*, idiot.
'Fuck,' he bleats, scrambling out of bed. He snatches up the sport magazine lying open next to him; the pages stick to his fingers when he picks it up. He grunts in disgust and shoves it under the mattress.
'Peter!'
'Shit, shit,' he says fretfully, hurrying through the tiny flat and pulling on his trousers with nothing underneath, re-buttoning the same sweat-stained shirt from yesterday.
He stops short before he gets to the door, something's caught his eye-- On the floor, the white mask where he let it fall last night, near a puddle of black cloak. He makes a noise of dismay and kicks it under the chair before going on.
'Peter! I know you're in there, I can hear you banging around.'
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, tries to get his breath back, swallows. Then yanks it open, and James's hand is poised to knock again.
'Oh,' James says. 'There you are.' He pulls back his fist and rubs it with his other hand. There are bruise-grey smudges under his eyes.
Peter tries to cover over the way his face falls when he sees Lily standing beside him, her hair limp and dark, holding a bundle of something squirming in a blanket.
'Oh,' Peter says.
'Listen,' says James. 'Can we come in? I've-- We've got to talk to you.'
'To me,' Peter echoes, and some kind of dreadful excitement starts brewing in his gut, hot and cold at the same time. He restrains the urge to glance back to make sure the white mask can't be seen under the armchair.
end.
Feedback is always appreciated._hannelore is next, putting her at the front of both the fic queue and the icon queue. That's just how special she is. :)
dragonessasmith, who requested a fic based on this icon. The actor is Tim Spall, who of course will be playing Peter in the PoA movie.336 words, PG for language and innuendo.
Screwball Comedy
He wakes up to a strange pounding noise, and the thick taste of stale wine coating his tongue. His right hand is numb and starting to tingle where it's pinned under his hip. He buries his face harder in the pillow.
The pounding again--
Muffled: 'Peter? You in there? It's James!'
Peter's head jerks up, and he's suddenly aware that he's lying there with no blankets, bare-arsed-- It's the *door*, idiot.
'Fuck,' he bleats, scrambling out of bed. He snatches up the sport magazine lying open next to him; the pages stick to his fingers when he picks it up. He grunts in disgust and shoves it under the mattress.
'Peter!'
'Shit, shit,' he says fretfully, hurrying through the tiny flat and pulling on his trousers with nothing underneath, re-buttoning the same sweat-stained shirt from yesterday.
He stops short before he gets to the door, something's caught his eye-- On the floor, the white mask where he let it fall last night, near a puddle of black cloak. He makes a noise of dismay and kicks it under the chair before going on.
'Peter! I know you're in there, I can hear you banging around.'
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, tries to get his breath back, swallows. Then yanks it open, and James's hand is poised to knock again.
'Oh,' James says. 'There you are.' He pulls back his fist and rubs it with his other hand. There are bruise-grey smudges under his eyes.
Peter tries to cover over the way his face falls when he sees Lily standing beside him, her hair limp and dark, holding a bundle of something squirming in a blanket.
'Oh,' Peter says.
'Listen,' says James. 'Can we come in? I've-- We've got to talk to you.'
'To me,' Peter echoes, and some kind of dreadful excitement starts brewing in his gut, hot and cold at the same time. He restrains the urge to glance back to make sure the white mask can't be seen under the armchair.
end.
Feedback is always appreciated.
_hannelore is next, putting her at the front of both the fic queue and the icon queue. That's just how special she is. :)
