FIC: Frat Boy 8: 'Vacuuming in Pearls' by Thalia (R) (ficlet)
Title: Frat Boy 8ish: Vacuuming in Pearls
Author: Thalia (thalialunacy)
Rating: R for language and innuendo.
Genre: Silly cute ficlet? IDK.
Summary: Karl is at a Child's Play luncheon. Chris gets bored at home.
Length: 937 words.
Disclaimer: Obviously fictional content is FICTIONAL. So please, please don't sue me. And don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin.
Author's Notes: Random ficlet written for blue_jack, who went through the trouble of looking up a line from a movie just to amuse me. ♥ Plot bunny (such as it is) came from me and maypirate like, oh, ten months ago? XB The charity exists; I made the details up. Apologies to Wil Wheaton and his woman. Thanks to comically_so for the funniest line in here.
The vibrating of Karl's phone surprises the hell out of him, and he almost yelps. Even with all his Mad Grace (TM Pine), he still makes something close to a burping noise, and the lady on his left--Wil's wife, and she's awesome but oh God he's so bad with names--raises an eyebrow at him and looks pointedly at his pocket.
"Sorry," he whispers, truly embarrassed, then he slides his phone out of his trousers and slides down in the seat.
From: Chris Pine
Having fun, Han?
Karl can't help the stupid smile on his face.
To: Chris Pine
Why I am Han, now?
From: Chris Pine
You certainly shot first this morning.
Karl blinks at it for a moment, then snorts helplessly into his napkin. Then gives another apologetic look to Mrs Wil. He's really making an idiot of himself, here.
He pushes back his chair as gently as possible, nods at her, and pretty much tiptoes out the door. Mad Grace, thank God for it sometimes, he thinks as he breathes out into the cool air of the hallway.
Hotel hallways all smell the same, he notes. Then his phone buzzes again.
From: Chris Pine
Tell me I'm not getting laid for that witty wordplay. Just try and tell me.
He pushes the button. Waits. Speaks as soon as the line connects. "You're not getting laid for that witty wordplay."
He hears a clang on the other end. "Oh what the fuck, that was worth at least a hand job." Before Karl can answer, he's ploughing on. "What about for baking? Tell me I get a hand job for baking."
Karl laughs. "You're baking?"
"Yeah. And not in the Sylvia Plath way, either. Just the June Cleaver way." He pauses, clearly thinking. "Although they never did get into June's later years…"
Karl feels a swell of something ridiculous. He lets it wash through him. "Please don't hurt yourself, your first aid kit is like fifteen years old."
Chris pauses. Karl can hear him breathing. There's another clang. "Yeah, but yours isn't."
Karl has his own pause of breathing as he comprehends this series of phrases. Finally: "You're at my house."
"Yeah."
"You're baking."
"Yeah."
"You're baking at my house."
"Is this a problem?"
Karl chooses his words carefully. "The only problem is that I'm up for auction in ten minutes."
There's a whoosh of breath on the other end. "You're what?"
"Buy a Geek, remember?"
"Holy shit, I thought you were joking."
Karl shrugs, then remembers Chris can't hear it. "No, mate, not joking. Wil talked me into it. He's a persuasive bastard, that one."
"Damn it, Wesley," Chris mutters.
Karl shakes his head and chuckles again. "You stole that from me."
"Your point?"
"I'm slowly geekifying you."
"And I'm slowly turning you literate. You got the Plath reference, after all."
"You are such a cock."
Chris snorts. "You love my cock."
Karl covers his face with his hand. "This conversation is over."
"Just come home."
"I can't, Pine."
"Did I mention I'm wearing your apron?"
“I should never have given you a key.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
"I'm going now."
Karl presses the end button. Five minutes later, he realizes he's still standing in the hallway, staring at the wall, his phone in his hand. He shakes his head--stupid smile won't go away--and tries not to saunter back into the room.
"And there he is, ladies and gentlemen! Dr McCoy, Judge Dredd, Eomer himself!"
Karl freezes. Then Wil's gesturing him up onto the little platform. "Fine specimen, am I right?" Catcalls and whistles from the crowd as Karl gives in and does a slow spin, his hands up in the air. "Well, I'm afraid I have to break some hearts tonight, ladies--and gents--" Wil winks at the diners. "--because he's no longer available."
Karl's eyebrow goes up, half for show but really a lot for real. "I'm not?"
Wil shakes his head. "I just got a personal call with a donation of ten thousand dollars for your geeky self, Urban. And a voucher to match anything put up against it." He turns to the audience tables and hams like he's got a big secret. "I'm not even going to tell you how high they offered to match, but it sounds a lot like five million dollars."
Karl's whole insides flip over. He's sometimes used to fame, but then stuff like this happens and he's positively sideswiped. He swallows. He tries to think. "Only five mill?" he finally manages to joke. "Cheapskate. What's the name, so I can find out why they value me so little?"
Wil is grinning at him, the shit, and Karl almost blushes. "You'd better get home, Ward, because the only name I've got is June Cleaver."
Pine.
Karl is out the door like a shot, already holding his phone to his ear. "June Cleaver?" he asks after the line connects, his tone incredulous. What he really means is-- "Five million, Pine?"
Chris swears quietly but vehemently. "He wasn't fucking supposed to tell you that, okay." He actually sounds embarrassed, and Karl's heart clenches stupidly.
"Okay, we can pretend he didn't."
Chris takes a moment, clearly to gather his dignity. "So I'll see you in a couple hours? I'm assuming there's some epic gaming going to happen post-luncheon."
Karl tightens his hand on the steering wheel. He hasn't started the engine yet. He's randy, not looking to get a ticket. "Yeah. But I'm up for hearing other offers…"
He can practically hear Chris's leer. "I have an offer here."
"Muffins?"
"Better."
"What's better than muffins?"
"I'm not wearing anything under the apron."
Karl's never been one to run a lot of red lights. That afternoon, he pretty much runs them all.
FIN
Author: Thalia (thalialunacy)
Rating: R for language and innuendo.
Genre: Silly cute ficlet? IDK.
Summary: Karl is at a Child's Play luncheon. Chris gets bored at home.
Length: 937 words.
Disclaimer: Obviously fictional content is FICTIONAL. So please, please don't sue me. And don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin.
Author's Notes: Random ficlet written for blue_jack, who went through the trouble of looking up a line from a movie just to amuse me. ♥ Plot bunny (such as it is) came from me and maypirate like, oh, ten months ago? XB The charity exists; I made the details up. Apologies to Wil Wheaton and his woman. Thanks to comically_so for the funniest line in here.
The vibrating of Karl's phone surprises the hell out of him, and he almost yelps. Even with all his Mad Grace (TM Pine), he still makes something close to a burping noise, and the lady on his left--Wil's wife, and she's awesome but oh God he's so bad with names--raises an eyebrow at him and looks pointedly at his pocket.
"Sorry," he whispers, truly embarrassed, then he slides his phone out of his trousers and slides down in the seat.
From: Chris Pine
Having fun, Han?
Karl can't help the stupid smile on his face.
To: Chris Pine
Why I am Han, now?
From: Chris Pine
You certainly shot first this morning.
Karl blinks at it for a moment, then snorts helplessly into his napkin. Then gives another apologetic look to Mrs Wil. He's really making an idiot of himself, here.
He pushes back his chair as gently as possible, nods at her, and pretty much tiptoes out the door. Mad Grace, thank God for it sometimes, he thinks as he breathes out into the cool air of the hallway.
Hotel hallways all smell the same, he notes. Then his phone buzzes again.
From: Chris Pine
Tell me I'm not getting laid for that witty wordplay. Just try and tell me.
He pushes the button. Waits. Speaks as soon as the line connects. "You're not getting laid for that witty wordplay."
He hears a clang on the other end. "Oh what the fuck, that was worth at least a hand job." Before Karl can answer, he's ploughing on. "What about for baking? Tell me I get a hand job for baking."
Karl laughs. "You're baking?"
"Yeah. And not in the Sylvia Plath way, either. Just the June Cleaver way." He pauses, clearly thinking. "Although they never did get into June's later years…"
Karl feels a swell of something ridiculous. He lets it wash through him. "Please don't hurt yourself, your first aid kit is like fifteen years old."
Chris pauses. Karl can hear him breathing. There's another clang. "Yeah, but yours isn't."
Karl has his own pause of breathing as he comprehends this series of phrases. Finally: "You're at my house."
"Yeah."
"You're baking."
"Yeah."
"You're baking at my house."
"Is this a problem?"
Karl chooses his words carefully. "The only problem is that I'm up for auction in ten minutes."
There's a whoosh of breath on the other end. "You're what?"
"Buy a Geek, remember?"
"Holy shit, I thought you were joking."
Karl shrugs, then remembers Chris can't hear it. "No, mate, not joking. Wil talked me into it. He's a persuasive bastard, that one."
"Damn it, Wesley," Chris mutters.
Karl shakes his head and chuckles again. "You stole that from me."
"Your point?"
"I'm slowly geekifying you."
"And I'm slowly turning you literate. You got the Plath reference, after all."
"You are such a cock."
Chris snorts. "You love my cock."
Karl covers his face with his hand. "This conversation is over."
"Just come home."
"I can't, Pine."
"Did I mention I'm wearing your apron?"
“I should never have given you a key.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
"I'm going now."
Karl presses the end button. Five minutes later, he realizes he's still standing in the hallway, staring at the wall, his phone in his hand. He shakes his head--stupid smile won't go away--and tries not to saunter back into the room.
"And there he is, ladies and gentlemen! Dr McCoy, Judge Dredd, Eomer himself!"
Karl freezes. Then Wil's gesturing him up onto the little platform. "Fine specimen, am I right?" Catcalls and whistles from the crowd as Karl gives in and does a slow spin, his hands up in the air. "Well, I'm afraid I have to break some hearts tonight, ladies--and gents--" Wil winks at the diners. "--because he's no longer available."
Karl's eyebrow goes up, half for show but really a lot for real. "I'm not?"
Wil shakes his head. "I just got a personal call with a donation of ten thousand dollars for your geeky self, Urban. And a voucher to match anything put up against it." He turns to the audience tables and hams like he's got a big secret. "I'm not even going to tell you how high they offered to match, but it sounds a lot like five million dollars."
Karl's whole insides flip over. He's sometimes used to fame, but then stuff like this happens and he's positively sideswiped. He swallows. He tries to think. "Only five mill?" he finally manages to joke. "Cheapskate. What's the name, so I can find out why they value me so little?"
Wil is grinning at him, the shit, and Karl almost blushes. "You'd better get home, Ward, because the only name I've got is June Cleaver."
Pine.
Karl is out the door like a shot, already holding his phone to his ear. "June Cleaver?" he asks after the line connects, his tone incredulous. What he really means is-- "Five million, Pine?"
Chris swears quietly but vehemently. "He wasn't fucking supposed to tell you that, okay." He actually sounds embarrassed, and Karl's heart clenches stupidly.
"Okay, we can pretend he didn't."
Chris takes a moment, clearly to gather his dignity. "So I'll see you in a couple hours? I'm assuming there's some epic gaming going to happen post-luncheon."
Karl tightens his hand on the steering wheel. He hasn't started the engine yet. He's randy, not looking to get a ticket. "Yeah. But I'm up for hearing other offers…"
He can practically hear Chris's leer. "I have an offer here."
"Muffins?"
"Better."
"What's better than muffins?"
"I'm not wearing anything under the apron."
Karl's never been one to run a lot of red lights. That afternoon, he pretty much runs them all.
FIN