Miles & Becky, Sunday morning
Jun. 12th, 2016 07:18 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsMiles has to flee for the second time in 12 hours to avoid a wrathful, overprotective father.
When Miles awoke the next morning to a headache that threatened to split his head in two. The pain was worse than being whooped by the Rhino a month ago. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton and his throat was parched. What had he done to deserve this?
He groaned and turned over, burying his face in a pillow that was definitely not his own. He cracked open one blurry eye, trying to identify where he was. It took a minute for him to resolve the light blob lying next to him in the small bed. Memories from the previous night slowly started to return to him, and his body reacted predictably.
Someone stirring in the bed beside her was odd. Becky knew that. It took her a moment for her mind to actually process that information, but once she had, she tensed up and whipped around to face -- Miles. Blinking almost owlishly for a moment, she smiled a little. "Oh," she whispered. "What time is it?" Then another thought popped into her mind and she didn't bother waiting for Miles to answer her question. "Shit, if my dad's already up," she muttered, reaching around her boyfriend for the clock on the bedside table.
Miles didn't react. He understood the words she said, but the real meaning seemed to elude him. Unable or unwilling to muster the mental energy to decode, he sidled up against Becky and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Come back to sleep," he whined, his voice gravelly. "My head hurts. Make me feel better."
Seeing that it was only seven, Becky leaned over to press a kiss to Miles' cheek. "I can get you some water and some Advil, if you think that'd help, but I'm. Um. I'm a little sore? So any other kind of feeling better will probably need to not be what we did last night. And also, my dad'll be getting up soon. Like, in a half hour."
"Sore?" That managed to get past the walls in his brain inhibiting other thought. His eyes snapped open, still unfocused, but trained on the blurry form that was Becky. "Did I hurt you? I was trying to hold back from the full, you know, super-strength. Are you okay? Oh my God, if I literally banged you to death . . ."
"What?" Becky asked, brows rising. Bracing her palms on Miles' cheeks, she made him look up until she could meet his eyes. "No, I'm fine. It's not -- it's." She released his face and let her forehead thunk onto his shoulder. "Oh my God, you're ridiculous. Think about it. You took a hard thing and stuck it in me a lot. Which was nice. It was great, actually. But I've never done that before. So. I'm a little sore. I'm not dying -- you're so melodramatic."
"Well, I don't know these things!" Miles protested. "They don't teach us this in school. Or if they did, I wasn't paying attention to that part. I was probably still thinking about sticking hard things inside girls. You know, in a way that's not as gross as that sounds." The mental fog was starting to lift, and her earlier words came back to him. "Oh shit, what'd you say about your dad?"
"You are ridiculous," Becky muttered, stifling a laugh against Miles' shoulder. "So ridiculous -- " Before she could continue, she heard the door to her parents' room open. It'd been sticking for ages and her dad kept saying he was going to fix it, but he hadn't yet. "Oh shit," she said, looking down at herself and then up at Miles before throwing the covers off the bed and grabbing for her baggy t-shirt and flannel pants while throwing Miles' clothing at him and gesturing frantically. "He's up early," she half-whispered, half-hissed. She could hear her dad coming down the hallway.
Miles was flung out of bed with the force of the projectile of balled-up clothes. He managed to land on all fours all cat-like and get his boxers on before he heard a soft tap at the door, followed by the familiar, terrifying rumble of Becky's father's voice, asking if she was awake this early on a Sunday. She definitely would be now, Miles thought uncharitably as he struggled to get his jeans on, which he somehow managed to do backwards. Dammit, no time to fix. He pressed a final, amorous kiss against Becky's lips, which seemed to slow down time for a little bit, before another knock suddenly sped up everything again.
He leaped across the room in a single bound, threw open the window, and offered Becky one last smile before vanishing in camo mode and jumping outside. It was hell on his feet to land a couple of stories down, but it wasn't a moment too soon. Safe from her father's wrath, Miles took a few deep breaths and calmed down for a moment, before his hangover reminded him of its presence with a vengeance. He clutched his head to keep it from splitting in two.
"Worth it."
When Miles awoke the next morning to a headache that threatened to split his head in two. The pain was worse than being whooped by the Rhino a month ago. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton and his throat was parched. What had he done to deserve this?
He groaned and turned over, burying his face in a pillow that was definitely not his own. He cracked open one blurry eye, trying to identify where he was. It took a minute for him to resolve the light blob lying next to him in the small bed. Memories from the previous night slowly started to return to him, and his body reacted predictably.
Someone stirring in the bed beside her was odd. Becky knew that. It took her a moment for her mind to actually process that information, but once she had, she tensed up and whipped around to face -- Miles. Blinking almost owlishly for a moment, she smiled a little. "Oh," she whispered. "What time is it?" Then another thought popped into her mind and she didn't bother waiting for Miles to answer her question. "Shit, if my dad's already up," she muttered, reaching around her boyfriend for the clock on the bedside table.
Miles didn't react. He understood the words she said, but the real meaning seemed to elude him. Unable or unwilling to muster the mental energy to decode, he sidled up against Becky and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Come back to sleep," he whined, his voice gravelly. "My head hurts. Make me feel better."
Seeing that it was only seven, Becky leaned over to press a kiss to Miles' cheek. "I can get you some water and some Advil, if you think that'd help, but I'm. Um. I'm a little sore? So any other kind of feeling better will probably need to not be what we did last night. And also, my dad'll be getting up soon. Like, in a half hour."
"Sore?" That managed to get past the walls in his brain inhibiting other thought. His eyes snapped open, still unfocused, but trained on the blurry form that was Becky. "Did I hurt you? I was trying to hold back from the full, you know, super-strength. Are you okay? Oh my God, if I literally banged you to death . . ."
"What?" Becky asked, brows rising. Bracing her palms on Miles' cheeks, she made him look up until she could meet his eyes. "No, I'm fine. It's not -- it's." She released his face and let her forehead thunk onto his shoulder. "Oh my God, you're ridiculous. Think about it. You took a hard thing and stuck it in me a lot. Which was nice. It was great, actually. But I've never done that before. So. I'm a little sore. I'm not dying -- you're so melodramatic."
"Well, I don't know these things!" Miles protested. "They don't teach us this in school. Or if they did, I wasn't paying attention to that part. I was probably still thinking about sticking hard things inside girls. You know, in a way that's not as gross as that sounds." The mental fog was starting to lift, and her earlier words came back to him. "Oh shit, what'd you say about your dad?"
"You are ridiculous," Becky muttered, stifling a laugh against Miles' shoulder. "So ridiculous -- " Before she could continue, she heard the door to her parents' room open. It'd been sticking for ages and her dad kept saying he was going to fix it, but he hadn't yet. "Oh shit," she said, looking down at herself and then up at Miles before throwing the covers off the bed and grabbing for her baggy t-shirt and flannel pants while throwing Miles' clothing at him and gesturing frantically. "He's up early," she half-whispered, half-hissed. She could hear her dad coming down the hallway.
Miles was flung out of bed with the force of the projectile of balled-up clothes. He managed to land on all fours all cat-like and get his boxers on before he heard a soft tap at the door, followed by the familiar, terrifying rumble of Becky's father's voice, asking if she was awake this early on a Sunday. She definitely would be now, Miles thought uncharitably as he struggled to get his jeans on, which he somehow managed to do backwards. Dammit, no time to fix. He pressed a final, amorous kiss against Becky's lips, which seemed to slow down time for a little bit, before another knock suddenly sped up everything again.
He leaped across the room in a single bound, threw open the window, and offered Becky one last smile before vanishing in camo mode and jumping outside. It was hell on his feet to land a couple of stories down, but it wasn't a moment too soon. Safe from her father's wrath, Miles took a few deep breaths and calmed down for a moment, before his hangover reminded him of its presence with a vengeance. He clutched his head to keep it from splitting in two.
"Worth it."
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