Bristol, Sunday
Jan. 17th, 2010 05:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chosehumanityWhile everyone else was braving the blizzard back in Fandom, Mitchell was utterly ignorant of the situation. George had been complaining a great deal about missing home; in the end, Mitchell had caved and dragged him off to Bristol for the weekend.
Right now, the boy was off sipping tea in some shitty bar in a relatively vampire-safe area of town, munching on crackers and freaking out about being touristy. Mitchell was happy to leave him to it. He had some... nostalgia of his own.
Not homesickness. After a while (or at least a few decades) nostalgia became a better word, one that actually carried the load, covered most of the ground. Besides, he knew Herrick was still about, and he wasn't in the mood to run into him. Or Seth, for that matter.
Somehow, his nostalgic walk, cigarette in hand, had brought him here. This... dingy pub that looked the same as it had done for the past thirty years, at a comfortable walking distance from the hospital where he used to work. Tossing his cigarette in the trash, Mitchell ducked into it. A beer wouldn't hurt.
He settled in a booth, leaning into the crook of it. He kept his eyes on the patrons. A nice, calm, nearly empty bar. He'd almost forgotten what that was like - thank you, Max.
His beer arrived eventually, as did the bowl of grubby pub peanuts. He took a few and chased them down with a gulp of nice cold lager. Yes. Things were all right right now.
"Mitchell?"
He looked up. He knew that voice-- "Lauren," he said, blinking at the familiar face. "Hey!"
"Thought you'd run off and left us all behind for the States," she said, grinning, and sank down opposite him in the booth without asking. Same old Lauren. "Decided to exchange the hamburgers for the chips again?"
He smiled, slowly. "No, I'm just... visiting," he said, apologetically. "But it's nice to see you again. You look good."
"You think?" Lauren said, with a snort of a laugh, "With the way the weather's been? My ankles feel like I've left them sitting in the fridge for a day."
Mitchell shot a glance underneath the table. "They still look fine to me," he volunteered.
"That's because I'm wearing more socks than your dirty auntie," she said, "And on the right body parts, too."
Now it was his turn to laugh. "So what have you been up to, Lauren?"
She began to talk.
---
Somewhere on the way to her flat, Mitchell managed to buy a bottle of cheap wine and a packet of Doritos, but they were well into a few beers by then. He felt good. Everything did. Lauren was cackling by his side about one thing or another.
---
"You know, they used to tell me you were dangerous."
"Really? Who did?"
His lips pulled up into a smile that was as dangerous as it was disarming. He leaned back into the couch, and gestured for the wine.
---
"I think there's this ancient machinery to the world," he said, "Neither good nor bad."
Lauren listened intently, swishing her wine in her glass. Swayed in place, her mouth widening.
---
She shoved him up against the wall and kissed him. He shoved his hands under her shirt until he could draw it all the way up, exposing her bra, and kissed her mouth, her shoulders, her neck-- licked at it as he tore her bra out of the way and she nearly ripped his shirt trying to get it off.
They collapsed on the bed, frantic now. His fingers got momentarily struck by the jut of her hip. Her hands wound up on his arse, and they fell over again. Finally, he found his target, took her by both hips and pulled her close.
They both gasped with it. Moved, the rhythm haphazard, the room fuzzy around its very edges. There was warmth to be found in her skin. His mind went wild with it. Struck by the possibilities.
She flopped forward, pressing down, and Mitchell's face fell into the crook of her neck, his nose rubbing against her pulse. He could smell her, every whiff of what was going on, the heat and desire and the thump-thump-thump of her heartbeat.
He closed his eyes and forced it back, fought with it, tussled.
His eyes opened back up. They were black.
Everything went to hell.
---
"So where were you last night?"
"Places."
"Right-oh, then. What are you stuck on this time?"
"Nothing."
---
Monday morning he was off like hell itself was on his heels, calling over a taxi to take him away from her apartment to the airport. Away from Bristol, away from her dirty apartment, away from empty wine bottles and spills on the carpet, and most importantly, away from her cooling corpse that laid stretched-open and bloodless on her own stained sheets.
[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, and taken (if mostly just in spirit) from the Being Human pilot. slightly nws, to finish up the acronyms ]]
Right now, the boy was off sipping tea in some shitty bar in a relatively vampire-safe area of town, munching on crackers and freaking out about being touristy. Mitchell was happy to leave him to it. He had some... nostalgia of his own.
Not homesickness. After a while (or at least a few decades) nostalgia became a better word, one that actually carried the load, covered most of the ground. Besides, he knew Herrick was still about, and he wasn't in the mood to run into him. Or Seth, for that matter.
Somehow, his nostalgic walk, cigarette in hand, had brought him here. This... dingy pub that looked the same as it had done for the past thirty years, at a comfortable walking distance from the hospital where he used to work. Tossing his cigarette in the trash, Mitchell ducked into it. A beer wouldn't hurt.
He settled in a booth, leaning into the crook of it. He kept his eyes on the patrons. A nice, calm, nearly empty bar. He'd almost forgotten what that was like - thank you, Max.
His beer arrived eventually, as did the bowl of grubby pub peanuts. He took a few and chased them down with a gulp of nice cold lager. Yes. Things were all right right now.
"Mitchell?"
He looked up. He knew that voice-- "Lauren," he said, blinking at the familiar face. "Hey!"
"Thought you'd run off and left us all behind for the States," she said, grinning, and sank down opposite him in the booth without asking. Same old Lauren. "Decided to exchange the hamburgers for the chips again?"
He smiled, slowly. "No, I'm just... visiting," he said, apologetically. "But it's nice to see you again. You look good."
"You think?" Lauren said, with a snort of a laugh, "With the way the weather's been? My ankles feel like I've left them sitting in the fridge for a day."
Mitchell shot a glance underneath the table. "They still look fine to me," he volunteered.
"That's because I'm wearing more socks than your dirty auntie," she said, "And on the right body parts, too."
Now it was his turn to laugh. "So what have you been up to, Lauren?"
She began to talk.
---
Somewhere on the way to her flat, Mitchell managed to buy a bottle of cheap wine and a packet of Doritos, but they were well into a few beers by then. He felt good. Everything did. Lauren was cackling by his side about one thing or another.
---
"You know, they used to tell me you were dangerous."
"Really? Who did?"
His lips pulled up into a smile that was as dangerous as it was disarming. He leaned back into the couch, and gestured for the wine.
---
"I think there's this ancient machinery to the world," he said, "Neither good nor bad."
Lauren listened intently, swishing her wine in her glass. Swayed in place, her mouth widening.
---
She shoved him up against the wall and kissed him. He shoved his hands under her shirt until he could draw it all the way up, exposing her bra, and kissed her mouth, her shoulders, her neck-- licked at it as he tore her bra out of the way and she nearly ripped his shirt trying to get it off.
They collapsed on the bed, frantic now. His fingers got momentarily struck by the jut of her hip. Her hands wound up on his arse, and they fell over again. Finally, he found his target, took her by both hips and pulled her close.
They both gasped with it. Moved, the rhythm haphazard, the room fuzzy around its very edges. There was warmth to be found in her skin. His mind went wild with it. Struck by the possibilities.
She flopped forward, pressing down, and Mitchell's face fell into the crook of her neck, his nose rubbing against her pulse. He could smell her, every whiff of what was going on, the heat and desire and the thump-thump-thump of her heartbeat.
He closed his eyes and forced it back, fought with it, tussled.
His eyes opened back up. They were black.
Everything went to hell.
---
"So where were you last night?"
"Places."
"Right-oh, then. What are you stuck on this time?"
"Nothing."
---
Monday morning he was off like hell itself was on his heels, calling over a taxi to take him away from her apartment to the airport. Away from Bristol, away from her dirty apartment, away from empty wine bottles and spills on the carpet, and most importantly, away from her cooling corpse that laid stretched-open and bloodless on her own stained sheets.
[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, and taken (if mostly just in spirit) from the Being Human pilot. slightly nws, to finish up the acronyms ]]
no subject
Date: 2010-01-17 07:06 pm (UTC)Also, I would've been sad had there been no mention of the ancient machinery.]
no subject
Date: 2010-01-17 07:29 pm (UTC)