Don't have to be cool to rule my world
Fandom: Pretty Woman, for leigh57
Title: Don’t have to be cool to rule my world
Word count: apx 1100
Characters: Edward/Vivian
Warnings: Spoilers for the movie, if there's anyone out there who hasn't seen this movie.
Author's notes: Under the cut
Author's notes: This is for you, leigh57, in response to your filthy funny joke prompt: “What do you say I take you home and eat your pussy?” (From the movie Shark Attack 3. The scene is here: http://youtu.be/w1XOfHax6Q8 BWAH!)
I wrote this so long ago that I forgot what it says. It turns out it's really not good! But I'm too lazy to up the caliber because this was a joke anyway, right? I know you’re traveling for the holidays and I hope you hang in there. I’m gonna do my best to fulfill every last one of the Jack/Renee prompts. My hope is that this will increase the volume of their voices in your head and maybe have a stronger chance of drowning out the annoying ones in real life? #wishfulthinking The title and cut text are OBVIOUSLY from the artist formerly known as Prince's Kiss. Which...has nothing at all to do with this story, but look at her all cutely singing in the bathtub!
__________
They’re scrunched together in the booth of a bar. Soft, frizzing red hair outlines her face as she turns her grin on him, that full-toothed smile he’s come to love. Her narrow hips tilt and slightly crowd his, but sitting across from her didn’t seem like a close enough option.
She orders this seasonal drink he’s never heard of, something with eggnog and a bunch of other frothy stuff. They discuss mistletoe -- how it’s almost that time of year and, well, he knows a guy who can hook him up with some quality plant, is what he says to her, which produces the desired result.
She laughs at him, loud and uninhibited, her elbow nudging his, her hand reaching for his knee as she says, “Sure. I’d like that,” in a way that makes him think she was once kind of shy.
“Good.” He nods, reaching for her glass.
“You know," she says, facing him, her eyes are grinning when she sees him steal a sip. “This time a few months ago I’d have come into this bar and one of those guys sitting up there by the TV would have come up to me and said something along the lines of: ‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?’”
He glares at the men sitting up front, as though by merely existing as a presence that makes her feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable or objectified, they have done something unforgivable. He turns his attention away, moving a little closer to her in the booth, if that’s even possible. “People actually say that to women?”
She brings the glass to her mouth, sipping gently, a film of creamy egg nog residing on her upper lip when she pulls it away. He resists the urge to lean forward and kiss it off, but just barely. “You’d be surprised by the lack of creativity.”
He laughs, because, really? He’s actually heard much worse. “You know what Stuckey used to use as a pick-up line?” he says without thinking, regretting it the second it comes out of his mouth. He couldn’t actually repeat this to her, could he?
“You’re really bringing up Stuckey right now?" She grabs a single fry from his plate and holds it up to him. "You’ll make me lose my cheese fries all over your expensive suit.”
He cracks a smile. “Nevermind. I can’t repeat it anyway," he dismisses, shaking his head, feeling the knock of her arm against his, a pretend jab.
“Oh come on! Now you have to tell me. You’re the one who brought it up!”
“Well,” he starts, clearing his throat. “He’d scope out the place, looking for the hottest woman. When he found her, he’d look her dead in the eye and say....” Edward tries to muster up the audacity to even repeat these lines in quotation form, wondering how his former ‘friend’ uttered them in total seriousness. “No, I can’t,” he decides, seeing if she’ll allow him to chicken out, which, to be honest, he knows she won’t.
“Tell me. So help me god, Edward. I’ll get it out of you.”
“Okay okay. He’d say, with his face dead-serious...” Edward clears his throat one last time in order to change his pitch, trying to embody the lechery of Stuckey’s tenor. “‘I’m so wired. What do you say I take you home and eat your pussy?’”
Vivan’s face is ten shades of red by time she’s absorbed his sentence, which takes her several beats. He sees her eyes going through this hilarious process and imagines what her thoughts would say, if he could read them right now. Judging by her face, it's something like: ‘...I couldn’t have heard that correctly.' and 'No that’s really what he said.' and 'No, couldn't be.' and 'Yeah.' and 'Wow.’
She reaches for the glass of ice water, bursting into a fit of laughter before she can take a sip. When he thinks she’s done, she just starts back up again, same force, a full-bodied fit of giggles. She puts her hand over her mouth and, through fading laughter, manages to say, “That ever work out for him?”
Edward shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “He was never successful. But he was convinced the constant failure rested in his delivery and not the line itself. He kept on at it.”
“Wow. I can’t... Wow. I’ve never heard...” Her eyes stand out in the dimly lit bar, sparkling with the shimmery gleam of residual hilarity. “You’re not making that up?”
“How could I make that up?”
She seems to consider this for a second before she turns inward to face him with her whole body. “Can I tell you something?” she asks, leveling her eyes with his, her expression a bit more serious than it was just a second ago.
“Anything.”
She leans in, close to his ear, and whispers. “I’ve never.... What that line suggested? No one’s ever...”
“What?” His mouth gets very, very dry as he processes her meaning. He reaches for his water. “Well we'll have to...fix that,” he garbles as he signals for the check, his words cracking before he takes a sip of water.
“Edward, you don’t have to...” she trails off, biting her lip and squeezing his hand underneath the table.
He tries to catch her now-wandering eyes. She’s so close he can smell the light citrus of her fragrance. He moves his fingers to her face, tracing the flush as it rises, pink, across her cheeks. “Do you not want...”
“I don’t know," she says quickly, cutting him off. Nervous. "No one’s ever...offered.” She pulls back from him, just a little. He can feel the fast pulse in her hand where she’s holding his, her delicate palm clammy for the first time since he’s known her. “The men I’ve...been with weren’t exactly the kind I’d want...”
“Would you...” No, he should phrase that differently. “I’d really like to try that,” he states, fumbling over the words. “Would it be okay if I did that?”
“I think I’d like that,” she says, nodding as she leans forward, glossy pink of her lips touching his, and when they pull apart, he sees that she's grinning.
There’s a small, almost anxious kind of laughter bubbling beneath the surface.
“Our waiter is taking a long time with that check,” she whispers. The feel of her breath is hot against his ear.
And he swears he’ll tip five hundred dollars if the guy speeds it up already.
Title: Don’t have to be cool to rule my world
Word count: apx 1100
Characters: Edward/Vivian
Warnings: Spoilers for the movie, if there's anyone out there who hasn't seen this movie.
Author's notes: Under the cut
Author's notes: This is for you, leigh57, in response to your filthy funny joke prompt: “What do you say I take you home and eat your pussy?” (From the movie Shark Attack 3. The scene is here: http://youtu.be/w1XOfHax6Q8 BWAH!)
I wrote this so long ago that I forgot what it says. It turns out it's really not good! But I'm too lazy to up the caliber because this was a joke anyway, right? I know you’re traveling for the holidays and I hope you hang in there. I’m gonna do my best to fulfill every last one of the Jack/Renee prompts. My hope is that this will increase the volume of their voices in your head and maybe have a stronger chance of drowning out the annoying ones in real life? #wishfulthinking The title and cut text are OBVIOUSLY from the artist formerly known as Prince's Kiss. Which...has nothing at all to do with this story, but look at her all cutely singing in the bathtub!
__________
They’re scrunched together in the booth of a bar. Soft, frizzing red hair outlines her face as she turns her grin on him, that full-toothed smile he’s come to love. Her narrow hips tilt and slightly crowd his, but sitting across from her didn’t seem like a close enough option.
She orders this seasonal drink he’s never heard of, something with eggnog and a bunch of other frothy stuff. They discuss mistletoe -- how it’s almost that time of year and, well, he knows a guy who can hook him up with some quality plant, is what he says to her, which produces the desired result.
She laughs at him, loud and uninhibited, her elbow nudging his, her hand reaching for his knee as she says, “Sure. I’d like that,” in a way that makes him think she was once kind of shy.
“Good.” He nods, reaching for her glass.
“You know," she says, facing him, her eyes are grinning when she sees him steal a sip. “This time a few months ago I’d have come into this bar and one of those guys sitting up there by the TV would have come up to me and said something along the lines of: ‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?’”
He glares at the men sitting up front, as though by merely existing as a presence that makes her feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable or objectified, they have done something unforgivable. He turns his attention away, moving a little closer to her in the booth, if that’s even possible. “People actually say that to women?”
She brings the glass to her mouth, sipping gently, a film of creamy egg nog residing on her upper lip when she pulls it away. He resists the urge to lean forward and kiss it off, but just barely. “You’d be surprised by the lack of creativity.”
He laughs, because, really? He’s actually heard much worse. “You know what Stuckey used to use as a pick-up line?” he says without thinking, regretting it the second it comes out of his mouth. He couldn’t actually repeat this to her, could he?
“You’re really bringing up Stuckey right now?" She grabs a single fry from his plate and holds it up to him. "You’ll make me lose my cheese fries all over your expensive suit.”
He cracks a smile. “Nevermind. I can’t repeat it anyway," he dismisses, shaking his head, feeling the knock of her arm against his, a pretend jab.
“Oh come on! Now you have to tell me. You’re the one who brought it up!”
“Well,” he starts, clearing his throat. “He’d scope out the place, looking for the hottest woman. When he found her, he’d look her dead in the eye and say....” Edward tries to muster up the audacity to even repeat these lines in quotation form, wondering how his former ‘friend’ uttered them in total seriousness. “No, I can’t,” he decides, seeing if she’ll allow him to chicken out, which, to be honest, he knows she won’t.
“Tell me. So help me god, Edward. I’ll get it out of you.”
“Okay okay. He’d say, with his face dead-serious...” Edward clears his throat one last time in order to change his pitch, trying to embody the lechery of Stuckey’s tenor. “‘I’m so wired. What do you say I take you home and eat your pussy?’”
Vivan’s face is ten shades of red by time she’s absorbed his sentence, which takes her several beats. He sees her eyes going through this hilarious process and imagines what her thoughts would say, if he could read them right now. Judging by her face, it's something like: ‘...I couldn’t have heard that correctly.' and 'No that’s really what he said.' and 'No, couldn't be.' and 'Yeah.' and 'Wow.’
She reaches for the glass of ice water, bursting into a fit of laughter before she can take a sip. When he thinks she’s done, she just starts back up again, same force, a full-bodied fit of giggles. She puts her hand over her mouth and, through fading laughter, manages to say, “That ever work out for him?”
Edward shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “He was never successful. But he was convinced the constant failure rested in his delivery and not the line itself. He kept on at it.”
“Wow. I can’t... Wow. I’ve never heard...” Her eyes stand out in the dimly lit bar, sparkling with the shimmery gleam of residual hilarity. “You’re not making that up?”
“How could I make that up?”
She seems to consider this for a second before she turns inward to face him with her whole body. “Can I tell you something?” she asks, leveling her eyes with his, her expression a bit more serious than it was just a second ago.
“Anything.”
She leans in, close to his ear, and whispers. “I’ve never.... What that line suggested? No one’s ever...”
“What?” His mouth gets very, very dry as he processes her meaning. He reaches for his water. “Well we'll have to...fix that,” he garbles as he signals for the check, his words cracking before he takes a sip of water.
“Edward, you don’t have to...” she trails off, biting her lip and squeezing his hand underneath the table.
He tries to catch her now-wandering eyes. She’s so close he can smell the light citrus of her fragrance. He moves his fingers to her face, tracing the flush as it rises, pink, across her cheeks. “Do you not want...”
“I don’t know," she says quickly, cutting him off. Nervous. "No one’s ever...offered.” She pulls back from him, just a little. He can feel the fast pulse in her hand where she’s holding his, her delicate palm clammy for the first time since he’s known her. “The men I’ve...been with weren’t exactly the kind I’d want...”
“Would you...” No, he should phrase that differently. “I’d really like to try that,” he states, fumbling over the words. “Would it be okay if I did that?”
“I think I’d like that,” she says, nodding as she leans forward, glossy pink of her lips touching his, and when they pull apart, he sees that she's grinning.
There’s a small, almost anxious kind of laughter bubbling beneath the surface.
“Our waiter is taking a long time with that check,” she whispers. The feel of her breath is hot against his ear.
And he swears he’ll tip five hundred dollars if the guy speeds it up already.