Noob Drabble!
'Ello, fellow B.D. fans! My name is Jessica, and I've been lurking around here for a while. Then I came to my senses. You're all fabulous. And so is this contest. Thus, my humble submission, with Our Favorite Man dancing nude to "It's Raining Men," just as requested.
Title: Rhapsody In Blue
Author: Jessie
Genre: Comedy/Angst (I know, oxymoron).
Rating: PG-13
Technology was so useless. George Huang had always felt that things like the Ipod, the EMac, and all those other things with one-letter prefixes were superfluous. That was why he had gone into psychology and the FBI. He preferred the cold, hard facts of things, rather than a glossy package with sound effects.
Which was why he didn’t quite understand why he had bought a CD player for his shower. It was a pretty thing, silver and glass, mounted on the shower wall. It had FM/AM stereo as well as the CD function, and he always had some jazz or classical music playing when he showered. That particular evening, as he stood under the warm water, Huang wondered again why he had bought the thing. Steely Dan’s “Janie Runaway” was playing, one of his favorite songs. He swiped a swath of steam off and examined his face in the shaving mirror mounted next to the CD player. He squinted. He needed a shave. Huang ran his hand over the stuff bristles and sighed. The FBI never had a day off, because crime never took one. If it meant a day without a razor… well, he was used to his job.
His hair plastered to his forehead in wet strands, Huang reached over to push the FM button. The local oldies station came on, blasting the end of Aretha Franklin’s “RESPECT.” One thing George Huang would never under any circumstances reveal to anyone was that he danced and sang in the shower. It was the only place he truly felt that he was alone. Sure, he walked around his apartment naked sometimes, but only occasionally. He never liked catching glimpses of himself in the mirror; he always thought he was too skinny. And he had a few pathetic strands of hair on his chest which he disposed of with a razor.
The intro to the next song started, and Huang grinned devilishly. He grabbed his soap-on-a-rope and held it like a microphone. “It’s rainin’ men!” he lip-synched along with the radio. “Hallelujah, it’s rainin’ men! Amen!”
The steam of the shower obscured the view of a man jumping around his shower like a five-year-old, singing into a bar of soap. Anyone walking into the bathroom would have seen an outline of someone dancing, and seen no trace of the stone-faced FBI psychologist who assisted in the most difficult murder cases in New York City.
Huang was alone, happy, singing in the shower. And that was just the way he liked it.