cassyl
in
kkissbbang
Introductory ficlet?
Hi, I've just stumbled into the realm of "Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang," and I'm loving it pretty hardcore. I just can't get enough. I don't have much to offer, but I knocked up this little ficlet for an RDJ fic-a-thon that th-esaurus initiated over on her journal. I don't really know anyone else who would enjoy fanfiction about the film, so I thought I might as well offer it up for your enjoyment.
It's untitled, PG-13 rating for language and general gayness, but gen in nature. Lost on the road, Harry tries to have a heart-to-heart with Perry. 581 words. Any and all comments very welcome.
Perry guides the car onto the shoulder of the road and we come to a stop. “Just hand me the map. It’s in the glove box.”
I pop the glove box open and riffle around until I find the map. He snatches it out of my hand and starts unfolding it, muttering to himself. He used to keep that little gun in here, but it’s gone now, replaced with a CD of Celine Dion’s Greatest Hits.
“Do you ever-” I stop, maybe out of self-preservation, out of the ingrained instinct I have that Perry is going to hit me for asking a stupid question.
“What?”
“What what?”
He rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to waste my time asking inane questions, at least ask them, don’t just leave them hanging.”
“Well, no, it’s just, I mean, I was wondering. Do you ever, like, I mean, does it ever get lonely?”
“Does what ever get lonely, Harry?”
“Being gay.”
“Oh, no.”
“Wh-?”
“No, we are not having this conversation.”
“Bu-Why not?”
“This is not a conversation we are going to have. Ever.”
“What is your problem?”
Perry laughs, and it’s not a very nice sound. “My problem is you, you fucking idiot.”
“Well, no, but-”
He does that thing with his hands where it looks like he wants to strangle me. “If I wanted to pour my heart out to someone-which isn’t likely, by the way-don’t you think I’d pick someone a little more sympathetic?”
I look down at my knees. That hurts, a little. “It’s just, I was thinking about what you said about the Dillinger.”
“Derringer,” he corrects. Then he sighs, and I have to smile a little, because I knew he couldn’t just leave it at that. “What about the Derringer?”
“How you called it, you know . . .”
“My faggot gun?” He raises his eyebrows, like a challenge. Sometimes, even now that we’ve known each other a while, he still enjoys throwing it in my face, the whole gay thing, just to get a rise out of me.
“Yeah. That. And I was just thinking . . . I dunno.” I shrug. I didn’t think when I started this line of conversation about how, well, how gay it would sound actually coming out of my mouth. “That just seems like a really lonely thing. Using someone a couple of times and-and-“
“Oh, please,” Perry scoffs. “As if you weren’t doing exactly the same thing before you met Harmony.”
“Well, yeah, and it fucking sucked. You know?” I look at him, watching his face for some kind of reaction. “It sucked, and I wanted to stop-settle down, find a nice girl. Don’t you ever want to-well, not with a girl, obviously, but, uh, you know, with a person of the appropriate gender.”
Perry shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“You know, technically, that doesn't actually answer my question.”
“It’s not technically any of your fucking business who I fuck, or settle down with, or-anything.”
“But-"
“Just leave it alone, Harry. OK? Can you do that?”
I think, for a minute, that Perry looks-not sad, exactly. I don’t really have a word for that expression. Kind of like how, for a straight guy, there's pink and there's purple, and nothing really in between? How fuschia and magenta and violet are colors only visible to women and gay men? It's kind of like that, like that expression is off my emotional spectrum. But I know enough not to push it any further, so I just say, “Yeah, sure. Sorry. Forget I ever said anything.”
“Gladly,” Perry says. “Now, it looks like all we have to do is double back for about half a mile and there should be a ramp that’ll get us back onto the highway."
It's untitled, PG-13 rating for language and general gayness, but gen in nature. Lost on the road, Harry tries to have a heart-to-heart with Perry. 581 words. Any and all comments very welcome.
Perry guides the car onto the shoulder of the road and we come to a stop. “Just hand me the map. It’s in the glove box.”
I pop the glove box open and riffle around until I find the map. He snatches it out of my hand and starts unfolding it, muttering to himself. He used to keep that little gun in here, but it’s gone now, replaced with a CD of Celine Dion’s Greatest Hits.
“Do you ever-” I stop, maybe out of self-preservation, out of the ingrained instinct I have that Perry is going to hit me for asking a stupid question.
“What?”
“What what?”
He rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to waste my time asking inane questions, at least ask them, don’t just leave them hanging.”
“Well, no, it’s just, I mean, I was wondering. Do you ever, like, I mean, does it ever get lonely?”
“Does what ever get lonely, Harry?”
“Being gay.”
“Oh, no.”
“Wh-?”
“No, we are not having this conversation.”
“Bu-Why not?”
“This is not a conversation we are going to have. Ever.”
“What is your problem?”
Perry laughs, and it’s not a very nice sound. “My problem is you, you fucking idiot.”
“Well, no, but-”
He does that thing with his hands where it looks like he wants to strangle me. “If I wanted to pour my heart out to someone-which isn’t likely, by the way-don’t you think I’d pick someone a little more sympathetic?”
I look down at my knees. That hurts, a little. “It’s just, I was thinking about what you said about the Dillinger.”
“Derringer,” he corrects. Then he sighs, and I have to smile a little, because I knew he couldn’t just leave it at that. “What about the Derringer?”
“How you called it, you know . . .”
“My faggot gun?” He raises his eyebrows, like a challenge. Sometimes, even now that we’ve known each other a while, he still enjoys throwing it in my face, the whole gay thing, just to get a rise out of me.
“Yeah. That. And I was just thinking . . . I dunno.” I shrug. I didn’t think when I started this line of conversation about how, well, how gay it would sound actually coming out of my mouth. “That just seems like a really lonely thing. Using someone a couple of times and-and-“
“Oh, please,” Perry scoffs. “As if you weren’t doing exactly the same thing before you met Harmony.”
“Well, yeah, and it fucking sucked. You know?” I look at him, watching his face for some kind of reaction. “It sucked, and I wanted to stop-settle down, find a nice girl. Don’t you ever want to-well, not with a girl, obviously, but, uh, you know, with a person of the appropriate gender.”
Perry shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“You know, technically, that doesn't actually answer my question.”
“It’s not technically any of your fucking business who I fuck, or settle down with, or-anything.”
“But-"
“Just leave it alone, Harry. OK? Can you do that?”
I think, for a minute, that Perry looks-not sad, exactly. I don’t really have a word for that expression. Kind of like how, for a straight guy, there's pink and there's purple, and nothing really in between? How fuschia and magenta and violet are colors only visible to women and gay men? It's kind of like that, like that expression is off my emotional spectrum. But I know enough not to push it any further, so I just say, “Yeah, sure. Sorry. Forget I ever said anything.”
“Gladly,” Perry says. “Now, it looks like all we have to do is double back for about half a mile and there should be a ramp that’ll get us back onto the highway."