musesandlyrics | 4.18. The Boat That Rocked quote
4.18. "'How about it?' How about this? Try and fuck your way out of this one Mark!"
The Boat That Rocked (Pirate Radio)
[Follows THIS and THIS]
By the time morning came and Matt woke up naked in a tangle of sheets with Vee wrapped around him, he figured he had already played with fire even indulging in the one night stand with the New York detective, so calling in 'sick' was hardly going to be the work of the devil, was it? When he called, he spoke to his boss, DI Natalie Chandler. She took the news with her usual understanding and sympathy, even if the shock of the call couldn't be hidden from her tone. According to Matt, he had dodgy fish and chips the night before, spent all night with his head in the toilet, and really, really couldn't make it to work. He thought if he went with the puking story, people would avoid rocking up on his doorstep. None of his colleagues were exactly the hair holding back sort.
For obvious reasons, once he ended the call, he didn't get hit with a wave of guilt. He hadn't ever pulled a sickie before, but the notion of spending the day naked in bed with Vee for a prolonged booty call was just too tempting. He had enough sick leave to last him until his hair turned grey, anyway. He was actually right in the middle of another good, hot, sweaty pounding with Vee (this time standard missionary with her legs wrapped vice-like around his hips to spur him on) when his apartment buzzer sounded. He was usually generally a polite guy, but the language that fell from his lips at the sound would have given even the bleakest parts of London a run for it's money. He had been so close, goddamnit!
The thing was, if he didn't answer, and it was someone checking on him, they would probably think he was dead and might end up with a SWAT team crashing in through his windows or perhaps worse. Matt wasn't the only one with a streak of distrust and paranoia. It came with being a cop. Dodgy fish and chips could be code for 'I'm being held hostage with a big gun', right? Right. With a string of apologies, Matt scrambled out of the bed and snatched up his bathrobe from the back of the door, pulling it on (unknowingly inside out) and hurried to the door just as the next, more insistent buzzer sounded. He braced himself for a moment before unhooking the chain and pulling the door open.
"Oh good. You're not dead." Ronnie let himself into Matt's apartment without waiting for an invite, sipping from a disposable cup of strong coffee. "Got a broad on the go then?" was the next thing out of his mouth as he paused by the plasma TV and eyed Matt suspiciously.
The easy answer would have just been to confirm the question. If only it wouldn't lead to five hundred more that Matt had no interest in answering. He frowned and perched on the edge of his glass coffee table. "What? No. I'm sick." A brief thought popped into his mind to feign a cough for emphasis until he remembered that he was supposed to have food poisoning. The amount of sex he had been drowning in that morning had about melted his vital brain cells. Maybe the male body really could only tolerate so many orgasms in a twenty four hour period? Either way, Matt tried his best to look pathetic.
"How sick?" Ronnie threw back and made himself comfortable in the nearest arm chair, a foot going up on the table beside Matt.
"Sick!" Matt returned with an exasperated wave of his hand. "The chippy was busy so I went to another one. Spent all night in the shitter. Do you want the gory details? I can give them to you. Better find a pen to take notes." He knew with the size of the apartment that Vee would be hearing every word of this. Just like Matt predicted, Ronnie had come to check on him, and that really was what his partner was doing, just trying not to let on about it. This was Ronnie's way of caring. And Matt appreciated it, he really did. He would just rather be appreciated Vee's arse at that moment.
Ronnie made a small noise that was a cross between a grunt and a hum as he took another sip of his coffee. "Serves you right for being a traitor." He pointed to Matt with the coffee cup. "Stick with what you know, mate. I once had this dodgy curry, some bloke told me the place was good. I thought I was going to shit my liver out. My wife wouldn't go near the crapper for a week."
Matt put his fingers up to his mouth and then rubbed his hand over his face wryly. He couldn't believe Vee was going to be getting an earful of this. It was kind of sending Matt's professional image right down the toilet with said dodgy curry. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, fighting not to scrunch his nose up.
"Heard any more from the Yank broad?" Ronnie asked and stretched back in the chair, seeming to settle further in for a chat. "You never know, mate. There might be more to her than T and A. Might actually have a brain, and she's offering to come to you. Forget about all the bad dates you've had lately. It's just a bad run. It's not really you. You just need to loosen up. A good shag will do that."
Tell me about it, Matt told himself silently. Ronnie just had to go and call her a 'Yank broad', didn't he? And bring up the discussion they had over a pint about Matt's concerns Vee might just be another piece of tits and arse, no substance, just like all the women he had tried to wine and dine of late. Not that there was all that many of them, but the way Ronnie spoke, it came off sounding like Matt had a new one on the go every week. More like three in six months that were disasters. Matt wanted to dive under the coffee table and hide. "You asked me this yesterday. What could have changed in less than twenty four hours?" he evaded. "And make it quick, because I'm starting to feel like I'm going to puke again." It wasn't too much of a stretch of a lie. He actually might puke if he sat here any longer knowing Vee could hear every word. It was probably already a miracle she hadn't stormed out in a huff right before Ronnie's eyes.
Ronnie pushed up out of the chair. "Alright, alright," he relented. "Just had to make sure you weren't dying. You need anything?" he felt the need to offer, his eyes once again sweeping over Matt analytically. "Want me to log on and alert your bit of American arse that you're out of action?"
"No!" Matt cried and then cleared his throat hastily. That was maybe a little too enthusiastic a protest, and Ronnie was now looking at him like he was strange. "I mean, no. It's fine. I've only spoken to her a few times. She hardly has me by the short and curlies. She's not going to want to know if I've eaten bad fish and chips. Kind of ruins the romance, don't you think?" At this point, Matt realised Ronnie had probably guessed his password into the account he used to talk to Vee, but if he worried about that at that moment, he might cry. "I just need my bed..."
Ronnie nodded and gave Matt a pat on the back. "Alright, mate. Catch you then. Steer clear of the shite chippy, aye?" He handed Matt his empty coffee cup and then was gone. Matt closed the door behind him and then rested his forehead against the back of it with a small moan. Now he had to face the music with the 'Yank broad'...
Vee [nychandcuffs] referenced with permission. Ronnie is my own NPC, and this is not binding on any Ronnie muses in existence.
Word Count | 1,336
The Boat That Rocked (Pirate Radio)
[Follows THIS and THIS]
By the time morning came and Matt woke up naked in a tangle of sheets with Vee wrapped around him, he figured he had already played with fire even indulging in the one night stand with the New York detective, so calling in 'sick' was hardly going to be the work of the devil, was it? When he called, he spoke to his boss, DI Natalie Chandler. She took the news with her usual understanding and sympathy, even if the shock of the call couldn't be hidden from her tone. According to Matt, he had dodgy fish and chips the night before, spent all night with his head in the toilet, and really, really couldn't make it to work. He thought if he went with the puking story, people would avoid rocking up on his doorstep. None of his colleagues were exactly the hair holding back sort.
For obvious reasons, once he ended the call, he didn't get hit with a wave of guilt. He hadn't ever pulled a sickie before, but the notion of spending the day naked in bed with Vee for a prolonged booty call was just too tempting. He had enough sick leave to last him until his hair turned grey, anyway. He was actually right in the middle of another good, hot, sweaty pounding with Vee (this time standard missionary with her legs wrapped vice-like around his hips to spur him on) when his apartment buzzer sounded. He was usually generally a polite guy, but the language that fell from his lips at the sound would have given even the bleakest parts of London a run for it's money. He had been so close, goddamnit!
The thing was, if he didn't answer, and it was someone checking on him, they would probably think he was dead and might end up with a SWAT team crashing in through his windows or perhaps worse. Matt wasn't the only one with a streak of distrust and paranoia. It came with being a cop. Dodgy fish and chips could be code for 'I'm being held hostage with a big gun', right? Right. With a string of apologies, Matt scrambled out of the bed and snatched up his bathrobe from the back of the door, pulling it on (unknowingly inside out) and hurried to the door just as the next, more insistent buzzer sounded. He braced himself for a moment before unhooking the chain and pulling the door open.
"Oh good. You're not dead." Ronnie let himself into Matt's apartment without waiting for an invite, sipping from a disposable cup of strong coffee. "Got a broad on the go then?" was the next thing out of his mouth as he paused by the plasma TV and eyed Matt suspiciously.
The easy answer would have just been to confirm the question. If only it wouldn't lead to five hundred more that Matt had no interest in answering. He frowned and perched on the edge of his glass coffee table. "What? No. I'm sick." A brief thought popped into his mind to feign a cough for emphasis until he remembered that he was supposed to have food poisoning. The amount of sex he had been drowning in that morning had about melted his vital brain cells. Maybe the male body really could only tolerate so many orgasms in a twenty four hour period? Either way, Matt tried his best to look pathetic.
"How sick?" Ronnie threw back and made himself comfortable in the nearest arm chair, a foot going up on the table beside Matt.
"Sick!" Matt returned with an exasperated wave of his hand. "The chippy was busy so I went to another one. Spent all night in the shitter. Do you want the gory details? I can give them to you. Better find a pen to take notes." He knew with the size of the apartment that Vee would be hearing every word of this. Just like Matt predicted, Ronnie had come to check on him, and that really was what his partner was doing, just trying not to let on about it. This was Ronnie's way of caring. And Matt appreciated it, he really did. He would just rather be appreciated Vee's arse at that moment.
Ronnie made a small noise that was a cross between a grunt and a hum as he took another sip of his coffee. "Serves you right for being a traitor." He pointed to Matt with the coffee cup. "Stick with what you know, mate. I once had this dodgy curry, some bloke told me the place was good. I thought I was going to shit my liver out. My wife wouldn't go near the crapper for a week."
Matt put his fingers up to his mouth and then rubbed his hand over his face wryly. He couldn't believe Vee was going to be getting an earful of this. It was kind of sending Matt's professional image right down the toilet with said dodgy curry. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, fighting not to scrunch his nose up.
"Heard any more from the Yank broad?" Ronnie asked and stretched back in the chair, seeming to settle further in for a chat. "You never know, mate. There might be more to her than T and A. Might actually have a brain, and she's offering to come to you. Forget about all the bad dates you've had lately. It's just a bad run. It's not really you. You just need to loosen up. A good shag will do that."
Tell me about it, Matt told himself silently. Ronnie just had to go and call her a 'Yank broad', didn't he? And bring up the discussion they had over a pint about Matt's concerns Vee might just be another piece of tits and arse, no substance, just like all the women he had tried to wine and dine of late. Not that there was all that many of them, but the way Ronnie spoke, it came off sounding like Matt had a new one on the go every week. More like three in six months that were disasters. Matt wanted to dive under the coffee table and hide. "You asked me this yesterday. What could have changed in less than twenty four hours?" he evaded. "And make it quick, because I'm starting to feel like I'm going to puke again." It wasn't too much of a stretch of a lie. He actually might puke if he sat here any longer knowing Vee could hear every word. It was probably already a miracle she hadn't stormed out in a huff right before Ronnie's eyes.
Ronnie pushed up out of the chair. "Alright, alright," he relented. "Just had to make sure you weren't dying. You need anything?" he felt the need to offer, his eyes once again sweeping over Matt analytically. "Want me to log on and alert your bit of American arse that you're out of action?"
"No!" Matt cried and then cleared his throat hastily. That was maybe a little too enthusiastic a protest, and Ronnie was now looking at him like he was strange. "I mean, no. It's fine. I've only spoken to her a few times. She hardly has me by the short and curlies. She's not going to want to know if I've eaten bad fish and chips. Kind of ruins the romance, don't you think?" At this point, Matt realised Ronnie had probably guessed his password into the account he used to talk to Vee, but if he worried about that at that moment, he might cry. "I just need my bed..."
Ronnie nodded and gave Matt a pat on the back. "Alright, mate. Catch you then. Steer clear of the shite chippy, aye?" He handed Matt his empty coffee cup and then was gone. Matt closed the door behind him and then rested his forehead against the back of it with a small moan. Now he had to face the music with the 'Yank broad'...
Vee [nychandcuffs] referenced with permission. Ronnie is my own NPC, and this is not binding on any Ronnie muses in existence.
Word Count | 1,336