Chick Flicks [fic]
[Written for alan_shore as part of my Fic Request post. Also some parts were edited and contributed by Alan's writer, so thanks to her!]
“I don’t want to watch that one,” Alan says, taking another sip of scotch.
“What’s wrong with this one?” Julianna mock-glares from the next couch cushion over, where she’s sitting with an ever-growing pile of rejected DVDs.
Alan gives her a look, as if his reasoning should be obvious. “It’s got Hugh Grant in it.”
“So do like, 75% of all chick flicks made in the last 15 years,” Julianna rolls her eyes.
“That’s exactly my point,” Alan leans forward. “He always plays the same character. He’s a terrible actor who’s made a living off of being charming when he’s just not. I mean, my god,” he picks up the DVD case, “It’s even got Sandra Bullock practicing law!”
“I didn’t know that was so offensive to mankind,” Julianna tries not to laugh. Most of the movies aren’t hers -she’s borrowed them, especially for tonight.
Of course, she isn’t supposed to be sitting here watching them with Alan Shore, Movie Critic Extraordinaire. She’s supposed to be hosting a girls’ night for some of the other single women she works with. But, as seems to happen in her life, plans go awry. Instead of margaritas with the girls, it’s a bottle of scotch and Alan…
“What about this?” Julianna holds up another DVD.
“If I wanted to relive the eighties, I’d get a mullet and some acid-washed jeans, or maybe one of those Miami Vice blazers,” Alan says with distaste.
“Hey, that’s all coming back in style,” she grins. “I think you’d look okay with the Miami Vice suit and some boat shoes.”
“I’d look okay?” he seems insulted.
“What’s wrong with okay?” she wants to know.
“Oh, nothing,” Alan says. “That’s what I strive for--adequate, presentable, not an affront to the eyes.”
“Excuse me, you’d look stunning, a regular-I’d say Don Johnson, but you’d probably get even more offended.”
He gives her an exasperated look. “Maybe we should just skip this and go right to the sex.”
“You always say that and it never happens,” Julianna shakes her head.
“Not for lack of trying on my part,” Alan points out. “Or on yours, I might add. If we skip the heavy drinking, too, we might be able to make this finally work.”
“You really know how to skip right to the hot and heavy foreplay,” she says.
“Ooh, sarcasm. That’s not a mood-killer,” he retorts.
“No? Good.” Julianna leans in. Her eyes darken, meeting Alan’s. “I can think of a few more things that might set the mood.”
He’s surprised by the look in her eyes and her lowered tone, but if he shows it, it’s nearly imperceptible. “Oh? And what might those things be?”
Julianna places a hand on his chest, looks at his button-up shirt for a moment, before leaning in further. Then, she’s swift to kiss him, lips meeting his, hand moving up to his collar. She’s aggressive, but only briefly. After a moment, she draws away. “Well, that, for a start…”
“That…that was-good…for a start.” Alan pauses. “I think I have a few ideas in that general direction.”
Now it’s her turn to raise a questioning brow.
“Oh, you know…this…” He puts a hand on her hip. “And that…” He kisses her, slower than she’d done, drawing it out.
“Much better than Hugh Grant,” she can’t help remark with a little grin, forehead close to his, glancing up at him.
“You’ve kissed Hugh Grant? Now that’s a mood-killer,” Alan says.
“I meant better than watching Hugh Grant on TV,” Julianna laughs.
Alan leans in to resume what he’d been doing. “Oh, well, in that case…”
“I don’t want to watch that one,” Alan says, taking another sip of scotch.
“What’s wrong with this one?” Julianna mock-glares from the next couch cushion over, where she’s sitting with an ever-growing pile of rejected DVDs.
Alan gives her a look, as if his reasoning should be obvious. “It’s got Hugh Grant in it.”
“So do like, 75% of all chick flicks made in the last 15 years,” Julianna rolls her eyes.
“That’s exactly my point,” Alan leans forward. “He always plays the same character. He’s a terrible actor who’s made a living off of being charming when he’s just not. I mean, my god,” he picks up the DVD case, “It’s even got Sandra Bullock practicing law!”
“I didn’t know that was so offensive to mankind,” Julianna tries not to laugh. Most of the movies aren’t hers -she’s borrowed them, especially for tonight.
Of course, she isn’t supposed to be sitting here watching them with Alan Shore, Movie Critic Extraordinaire. She’s supposed to be hosting a girls’ night for some of the other single women she works with. But, as seems to happen in her life, plans go awry. Instead of margaritas with the girls, it’s a bottle of scotch and Alan…
“What about this?” Julianna holds up another DVD.
“If I wanted to relive the eighties, I’d get a mullet and some acid-washed jeans, or maybe one of those Miami Vice blazers,” Alan says with distaste.
“Hey, that’s all coming back in style,” she grins. “I think you’d look okay with the Miami Vice suit and some boat shoes.”
“I’d look okay?” he seems insulted.
“What’s wrong with okay?” she wants to know.
“Oh, nothing,” Alan says. “That’s what I strive for--adequate, presentable, not an affront to the eyes.”
“Excuse me, you’d look stunning, a regular-I’d say Don Johnson, but you’d probably get even more offended.”
He gives her an exasperated look. “Maybe we should just skip this and go right to the sex.”
“You always say that and it never happens,” Julianna shakes her head.
“Not for lack of trying on my part,” Alan points out. “Or on yours, I might add. If we skip the heavy drinking, too, we might be able to make this finally work.”
“You really know how to skip right to the hot and heavy foreplay,” she says.
“Ooh, sarcasm. That’s not a mood-killer,” he retorts.
“No? Good.” Julianna leans in. Her eyes darken, meeting Alan’s. “I can think of a few more things that might set the mood.”
He’s surprised by the look in her eyes and her lowered tone, but if he shows it, it’s nearly imperceptible. “Oh? And what might those things be?”
Julianna places a hand on his chest, looks at his button-up shirt for a moment, before leaning in further. Then, she’s swift to kiss him, lips meeting his, hand moving up to his collar. She’s aggressive, but only briefly. After a moment, she draws away. “Well, that, for a start…”
“That…that was-good…for a start.” Alan pauses. “I think I have a few ideas in that general direction.”
Now it’s her turn to raise a questioning brow.
“Oh, you know…this…” He puts a hand on her hip. “And that…” He kisses her, slower than she’d done, drawing it out.
“Much better than Hugh Grant,” she can’t help remark with a little grin, forehead close to his, glancing up at him.
“You’ve kissed Hugh Grant? Now that’s a mood-killer,” Alan says.
“I meant better than watching Hugh Grant on TV,” Julianna laughs.
Alan leans in to resume what he’d been doing. “Oh, well, in that case…”