"It'll Be Fine Soon" 7/10 (In the Future 2)
Title: It’ll Be Fine Soon 7/10
Author: Me
Spoilers: References Bloodlust
Disclaimer: Fan fic, nothing owned
Word count: 588 words
Notes: This is het, R, Sam/Lenore. Future fic. Unbeta'd. Continues from the previous "In the Future" series.
Sam gets unfortunately chatty as they reach the California border; he talks about everything but the dead girlfriend he left behind decades before though she’s in every pause and breath. Or at least that’s where Lenore hears it, the slightly frantic emotion bubbling under his prattle about food and surf and sand and she knows he’s full of bullshit because he didn’t do much at Stanford but study and fuck some girl named Jessica.
She realizes the pettiness of hating someone who died violently in another lifetime. She just doesn’t much care.
He catches her silence as they cruise through the night and coast into San Francisco without much darkness to spare. The multi-pierced green tinged man behind the desk at the motel seems surprised by their heterosexuality, pleased with the cash and dismissive once they take their key card and disappear from his sight.
***
They’re hungry and that makes them cranky. It also entices them to fuck most of the day away. And the broken side table? Entirely too ugly to remain in one piece anyway.
“Who are we going to see?” Sam wonders aloud, lying on the floor, naked and counting water spots on the ceiling. He wishes he’d started photographing them since childhood; what a fascinating coffee table book that might have been.
Lenore sighs. “I’ve heard good things about this man to help new vampires. He’s a bit controversial in our world.” The “our” comes out a bit sharply. She still can’t reconcile “Sam” and “like her” entirely...despite the marks still healing on her skin. “Hopefully he hasn’t been assassinated.”
“Fun. Should we bring cookies?”
“We’ll bring him some pig’s blood and perhaps a nice bottle of wine.” With a stretch, Lenore rolls off the wrecked bed and wanders into the bathroom - after walking over Sam. “The floor?”
“It’s comfortable.”
“Hmmm.” Lenore steps away from the domesticness and into the bathroom to shower. As soon as the moon rises, they’ll be making their way to Bilka’s rumored home. She doesn’t mention how random and last ditch this entire endeavor might be.
***
At a little past ten, Sam and Lenore leave the motel room and walk through the meandering groups of hookers and johns having a little social in the parking lot. Sam gives a few who choose to lean against the Impala a tiny growl and they back off.
Lenore does NOT laugh. Not even on the inside.
But she is very glad he doesn’t try to eat them.
***
Bilka’s house is small and dark, looking appropriately abandoned as Sam pulls the car into the gravel driveway. Or what she assumes is the driveway. They’ve gotten rather bizarre looks to be driving a relic around San Francisco, a tank amid the tiny cars that ran on electricity or banana peels. She didn’t like being so noticeable but mentioning junking the Impala only got her the meanest look Sam was capable of. Which wasn’t saying much...
“So this is it? This is where I get my electric collar?”
“I still think that’s a decent option,” Lenore says, stepping out of the car with her instincts on high alert. She can hear the tension in Sam’s voice and the way his body jerks as he slams the door.
“It’ll be fine soon, I promise,” she lies, coming around to take his hand. For security. For comfort. To make sure she knows where he is. Either the non-descript house in front of them holds all the answers or something else Lenore refuses to deal with.
Author: Me
Spoilers: References Bloodlust
Disclaimer: Fan fic, nothing owned
Word count: 588 words
Notes: This is het, R, Sam/Lenore. Future fic. Unbeta'd. Continues from the previous "In the Future" series.
Sam gets unfortunately chatty as they reach the California border; he talks about everything but the dead girlfriend he left behind decades before though she’s in every pause and breath. Or at least that’s where Lenore hears it, the slightly frantic emotion bubbling under his prattle about food and surf and sand and she knows he’s full of bullshit because he didn’t do much at Stanford but study and fuck some girl named Jessica.
She realizes the pettiness of hating someone who died violently in another lifetime. She just doesn’t much care.
He catches her silence as they cruise through the night and coast into San Francisco without much darkness to spare. The multi-pierced green tinged man behind the desk at the motel seems surprised by their heterosexuality, pleased with the cash and dismissive once they take their key card and disappear from his sight.
***
They’re hungry and that makes them cranky. It also entices them to fuck most of the day away. And the broken side table? Entirely too ugly to remain in one piece anyway.
“Who are we going to see?” Sam wonders aloud, lying on the floor, naked and counting water spots on the ceiling. He wishes he’d started photographing them since childhood; what a fascinating coffee table book that might have been.
Lenore sighs. “I’ve heard good things about this man to help new vampires. He’s a bit controversial in our world.” The “our” comes out a bit sharply. She still can’t reconcile “Sam” and “like her” entirely...despite the marks still healing on her skin. “Hopefully he hasn’t been assassinated.”
“Fun. Should we bring cookies?”
“We’ll bring him some pig’s blood and perhaps a nice bottle of wine.” With a stretch, Lenore rolls off the wrecked bed and wanders into the bathroom - after walking over Sam. “The floor?”
“It’s comfortable.”
“Hmmm.” Lenore steps away from the domesticness and into the bathroom to shower. As soon as the moon rises, they’ll be making their way to Bilka’s rumored home. She doesn’t mention how random and last ditch this entire endeavor might be.
***
At a little past ten, Sam and Lenore leave the motel room and walk through the meandering groups of hookers and johns having a little social in the parking lot. Sam gives a few who choose to lean against the Impala a tiny growl and they back off.
Lenore does NOT laugh. Not even on the inside.
But she is very glad he doesn’t try to eat them.
***
Bilka’s house is small and dark, looking appropriately abandoned as Sam pulls the car into the gravel driveway. Or what she assumes is the driveway. They’ve gotten rather bizarre looks to be driving a relic around San Francisco, a tank amid the tiny cars that ran on electricity or banana peels. She didn’t like being so noticeable but mentioning junking the Impala only got her the meanest look Sam was capable of. Which wasn’t saying much...
“So this is it? This is where I get my electric collar?”
“I still think that’s a decent option,” Lenore says, stepping out of the car with her instincts on high alert. She can hear the tension in Sam’s voice and the way his body jerks as he slams the door.
“It’ll be fine soon, I promise,” she lies, coming around to take his hand. For security. For comfort. To make sure she knows where he is. Either the non-descript house in front of them holds all the answers or something else Lenore refuses to deal with.