Original -- Seeping
Title: Seeping
Rating: PG
Word Count: 650
Warnings: tone; inexplicable "Titanic" references
Prompt: snow-covered palm trees at pulped_fictions
Summary: The world has frozen. Theo's just getting warmed up.
Author's Note: I don't know why I saw the picture, thought "SNOW APOCALYPSE!", and then thought, "…WITH NICK AND THEO!" I am not responsible for this thing in my head that vaguely resembles a brain.
SEEPING
“I give up,” Nick said. He spun around on his toe dramatically and dropped onto his back in the snow.
“No, you don’t,” Theo said. He extracted one knit-gloved hand from the pocket of his bomber jacket and held it out.
Nick ignored it, choosing instead to flop around and whimper a bit. Theo supposed that with Hollywood buried up to the lettered sign in snow, somebody had to provide the world with overblown melodrama.
Theo crouched down, both hands drawn out from his pockets now, and balanced his elbows on his knees. He took a long look at the strip of ice passing itself off as a road; the wind wailed, harmonizing with Nick’s complaints, and summoned thin streams of tiny flakes to turn them into cyclones.
Theo hesitated, waited for a break in the tantrum-writhing, hesitated again, and then set a hand on Nick’s knee. He’d always hated it in blockbuster movies-how the harrowing danger pushed the two leads closer than they’d ever imagined, and their bickering and banter turned into Deep and Undeniable Love. Now that he thought about it, the shivering, scattered remnants of the human race were probably better off without Hollywood.
Cliché aside, though, that was kind of what had happened. Sort of. Something like, enough that Theo replayed it in his head every time they had a moment, watching it critically, looking for continuity errors, lamenting the script. And none of this felt real-nothing had since the storms, the clouds, the freeze, the end-but that was the strangest of all. Getting what he’d wished for in the middle of a nightmare threw him off-balance; the impossibility struck him from every angle. Each time he reached out to touch Nick Deveraux-the same Nick Deveraux, and not the same at all-he expected to be met with the horror and confusion that would mean he’d made it up.
But he hadn’t. Not so far.
He shook Nick’s knee back and forth a little, gently. “Come on. You’ll get snow down the back of your neck.”
“I don’t care,” Nick said.
“Yes, you do,” Theo told him. “Come on, get up.”
“I don’t care about anything,” Nick said, laying one arm over his eyes, curling his fingers into a fist. There was snow all over his gloves; it’d melt any moment now, and he’d be soaked. Three guesses who’d have to listen to him whine. “There’s nothing left to care about.” There was a petulance to Nick’s voice, but there was also a deep hopelessness-and a fear of it. Nick knew, instinctually, what they were coming to, and he was scared of it. “We don’t even know where we’re going, and the food’s running out. I am not dying like Leo DiCaprio in ‘Titanic.’”
“We’re at least fifty miles from the nearest boat,” Theo said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Never let go,” Nick intoned, reaching blindly for Theo with his free hand, but his voice caught.
Theo settled on his knees, feeling the snow begin to seep in through his jeans, and trailed one finger down Nick’s shin, tracing the smooth curve of his tibia. “Come on. You’re not good for much, but you make a decent heat source, and it’s going to be cold tonight.”
Nick lay still for a moment, letting Theo run his finger back up again. Then he spread both arms in the snow and swept them around on either side.
“What are you doing?” Theo asked.
“Making a snow angel,” Nick said.
Theo didn’t stop him. They needed all the angels they could get.
When Nick had desecrated the snow fairly thoroughly, Theo offered his hand again. “Coming?”
Nick took it, and Theo pulled him to his feet. “I like you too much to let you die.”
Theo mustered a grin. “Despite my better judgment, I feel the same way about you.”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 650
Warnings: tone; inexplicable "Titanic" references
Prompt: snow-covered palm trees at pulped_fictions
Summary: The world has frozen. Theo's just getting warmed up.
Author's Note: I don't know why I saw the picture, thought "SNOW APOCALYPSE!", and then thought, "…WITH NICK AND THEO!" I am not responsible for this thing in my head that vaguely resembles a brain.
SEEPING
“I give up,” Nick said. He spun around on his toe dramatically and dropped onto his back in the snow.
“No, you don’t,” Theo said. He extracted one knit-gloved hand from the pocket of his bomber jacket and held it out.
Nick ignored it, choosing instead to flop around and whimper a bit. Theo supposed that with Hollywood buried up to the lettered sign in snow, somebody had to provide the world with overblown melodrama.
Theo crouched down, both hands drawn out from his pockets now, and balanced his elbows on his knees. He took a long look at the strip of ice passing itself off as a road; the wind wailed, harmonizing with Nick’s complaints, and summoned thin streams of tiny flakes to turn them into cyclones.
Theo hesitated, waited for a break in the tantrum-writhing, hesitated again, and then set a hand on Nick’s knee. He’d always hated it in blockbuster movies-how the harrowing danger pushed the two leads closer than they’d ever imagined, and their bickering and banter turned into Deep and Undeniable Love. Now that he thought about it, the shivering, scattered remnants of the human race were probably better off without Hollywood.
Cliché aside, though, that was kind of what had happened. Sort of. Something like, enough that Theo replayed it in his head every time they had a moment, watching it critically, looking for continuity errors, lamenting the script. And none of this felt real-nothing had since the storms, the clouds, the freeze, the end-but that was the strangest of all. Getting what he’d wished for in the middle of a nightmare threw him off-balance; the impossibility struck him from every angle. Each time he reached out to touch Nick Deveraux-the same Nick Deveraux, and not the same at all-he expected to be met with the horror and confusion that would mean he’d made it up.
But he hadn’t. Not so far.
He shook Nick’s knee back and forth a little, gently. “Come on. You’ll get snow down the back of your neck.”
“I don’t care,” Nick said.
“Yes, you do,” Theo told him. “Come on, get up.”
“I don’t care about anything,” Nick said, laying one arm over his eyes, curling his fingers into a fist. There was snow all over his gloves; it’d melt any moment now, and he’d be soaked. Three guesses who’d have to listen to him whine. “There’s nothing left to care about.” There was a petulance to Nick’s voice, but there was also a deep hopelessness-and a fear of it. Nick knew, instinctually, what they were coming to, and he was scared of it. “We don’t even know where we’re going, and the food’s running out. I am not dying like Leo DiCaprio in ‘Titanic.’”
“We’re at least fifty miles from the nearest boat,” Theo said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Never let go,” Nick intoned, reaching blindly for Theo with his free hand, but his voice caught.
Theo settled on his knees, feeling the snow begin to seep in through his jeans, and trailed one finger down Nick’s shin, tracing the smooth curve of his tibia. “Come on. You’re not good for much, but you make a decent heat source, and it’s going to be cold tonight.”
Nick lay still for a moment, letting Theo run his finger back up again. Then he spread both arms in the snow and swept them around on either side.
“What are you doing?” Theo asked.
“Making a snow angel,” Nick said.
Theo didn’t stop him. They needed all the angels they could get.
When Nick had desecrated the snow fairly thoroughly, Theo offered his hand again. “Coming?”
Nick took it, and Theo pulled him to his feet. “I like you too much to let you die.”
Theo mustered a grin. “Despite my better judgment, I feel the same way about you.”