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kangeikoTitle: Polyamorous Love-Knot Within; Cleaner Required
Fandom: Askewniverse (follows on from Clerks II)
Characters: Becky, Randal and Dante.
Summary: "Becs, I love you, but we're not fucking for your amusement," Dante said, and ruffled her hair.
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex, m/f sex, and m/f/m sex and all variations therein. Also, swearing. Lotsa swearing. You've seen Kevin Smith's movies, yeah?
*
Part I
Part II
*
Randal didn't want to move in; not really. She had to bring out the big guns, and it was a damn shame, but there was nothing to be done if he insisted on being a stubborn asswipe. "Dante really wants you to move in," she said, and didn't bat an eyelash at his incredulous look.
"Yeah, right," and he was back to re-stocking the RST shelves, as if having arranged things alphabetically within each genre, mind you, there was anything left to do with the place. "That pussy wouldn't know a first move if it bit him in the ass."
"He fucked me, didn't he?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah - and right across my prep table, thanks ever so much for that, like I wanted his fucking spunk all over my hands." And there it was again, the slow flush spreading across his face as he realised what he'd said.
Becky stepped in real close. "I know you didn't want him to go," she said quietly. He was looking anywhere but at her, shifting slightly from foot to foot as if he could actually bolt straight out of the store. "And I know that it was you who changed his mind - not the baby, not me, you." He still wasn't looking at her, the asswipe. God, sometimes she wanted to beat that fucking smirk right off his face, especially when it wasn't fucking there. This was probably why she hadn't even considered Randal as a bed-partner - other than the fact of his ass-wipery, of course; but that sort of went without saying - and it irked her no end that she was having to put up with it with no fucking fringe benefits.
She grabbed his hand and brought it to her stomach. "You're a fucking pussy, Randal," she said, ignoring his indignant yelp and attempts to jerk his hand free. He could have pulled away, sure, but it would have taken a greater show of force than he was evidently willing to use with her, 'cause he quietened down as her grip on his wrist tightened. "You feel this baby? It wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you. Jesus -" and he tried to pull away again, so she dug her nails in. He grimaced, but gave in. "That night - I was at the fucking women's clinic, ok? I wanted to have it, but with my uncle, and with working at fucking Mooby's, how easy do you think it would have been for me?"
"Fuck you, Becs, don't you make this about me! I'm not the one who knocked you up!" He grabbed her arm with his free hand, and it was then that she thought, Jesus, he's fucking strong. With a one-handed, awkward grip he moved her 'til she wasn't blocking his way, and turned his attention back to the DVD shelves. "Go home and fuck him senseless, all right?" he muttered under his breath, heedless of the grip she still had on his arm; of the hand he still had on her belly. "I'm glad I helped you guys out, but I'm not your fucking toy, ok? You don't get to wind me up whenever your pregnant lady hormones want a bit of kink."
She let go of his wrist, disgusted. "You're a real shit, you know that? My 'pregnant lady hormones' want you to move in with us so I don't feel so fucking sordid every time I invite you for dinner. This may surprise you, but the world does not revolve around your cock." She glared at him a little more, then turned and slapped a key on the counter. "Pull your fucking finger out, all right? I'm too fucking bloated to come running after your sorry ass."
She wants to say that she walked out; really, given the size of her belly - what was she expecting, a fucking army?! - it was more like waddling. It was fine, though. Because, the next weekend, Randal's suitcase was in the spare room, and it wasn't 'spare' any more.
*
It was like a Playgirl fantasy, kinda, except that neither of the guys were particularly buff, and she wasn't actually having sex with either of them. It was a 'no sex' month, apparently - who the fuck knew you got those? She had been under the impression that pregnant women were randy as all hell - and Dante was doing his best to respect that. Of course, it meant that he pretty much used up all the hot water every morning, but what the hell.
The pregnancy made doing simple things difficult. Like changing a light bulb, for instance; since when was climbing on a chair a hanging offence? To listen to Dante go on about it, though, she might as well have been shooting up in the nursery.
Oh - plus? Nursery. Randal barricaded the door a few days after he moved in, and declared it to be his pet project. As long as he turned up to work, Dante didn't seem to care, so she let it go too. Although, yeah, she had a few nightmares about looking in after the birth and finding that her baby was sleeping in an exact replica of the control room of the Death Star.
Randal had laughed when she'd mentioned it. "Don't be stupid; that'd be traumatic for an infant. The original was destroyed with such a loss of life it would undoubtedly imbue the child with such a deep fucking melancholy, that -"
Yeah, right. She shoved a waffle in his mouth to shut him up.
*
Fandom: Askewniverse (follows on from Clerks II)
Characters: Becky, Randal and Dante.
Summary: "Becs, I love you, but we're not fucking for your amusement," Dante said, and ruffled her hair.
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex, m/f sex, and m/f/m sex and all variations therein. Also, swearing. Lotsa swearing. You've seen Kevin Smith's movies, yeah?
*
Part I
Part II
*
Randal didn't want to move in; not really. She had to bring out the big guns, and it was a damn shame, but there was nothing to be done if he insisted on being a stubborn asswipe. "Dante really wants you to move in," she said, and didn't bat an eyelash at his incredulous look.
"Yeah, right," and he was back to re-stocking the RST shelves, as if having arranged things alphabetically within each genre, mind you, there was anything left to do with the place. "That pussy wouldn't know a first move if it bit him in the ass."
"He fucked me, didn't he?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah - and right across my prep table, thanks ever so much for that, like I wanted his fucking spunk all over my hands." And there it was again, the slow flush spreading across his face as he realised what he'd said.
Becky stepped in real close. "I know you didn't want him to go," she said quietly. He was looking anywhere but at her, shifting slightly from foot to foot as if he could actually bolt straight out of the store. "And I know that it was you who changed his mind - not the baby, not me, you." He still wasn't looking at her, the asswipe. God, sometimes she wanted to beat that fucking smirk right off his face, especially when it wasn't fucking there. This was probably why she hadn't even considered Randal as a bed-partner - other than the fact of his ass-wipery, of course; but that sort of went without saying - and it irked her no end that she was having to put up with it with no fucking fringe benefits.
She grabbed his hand and brought it to her stomach. "You're a fucking pussy, Randal," she said, ignoring his indignant yelp and attempts to jerk his hand free. He could have pulled away, sure, but it would have taken a greater show of force than he was evidently willing to use with her, 'cause he quietened down as her grip on his wrist tightened. "You feel this baby? It wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you. Jesus -" and he tried to pull away again, so she dug her nails in. He grimaced, but gave in. "That night - I was at the fucking women's clinic, ok? I wanted to have it, but with my uncle, and with working at fucking Mooby's, how easy do you think it would have been for me?"
"Fuck you, Becs, don't you make this about me! I'm not the one who knocked you up!" He grabbed her arm with his free hand, and it was then that she thought, Jesus, he's fucking strong. With a one-handed, awkward grip he moved her 'til she wasn't blocking his way, and turned his attention back to the DVD shelves. "Go home and fuck him senseless, all right?" he muttered under his breath, heedless of the grip she still had on his arm; of the hand he still had on her belly. "I'm glad I helped you guys out, but I'm not your fucking toy, ok? You don't get to wind me up whenever your pregnant lady hormones want a bit of kink."
She let go of his wrist, disgusted. "You're a real shit, you know that? My 'pregnant lady hormones' want you to move in with us so I don't feel so fucking sordid every time I invite you for dinner. This may surprise you, but the world does not revolve around your cock." She glared at him a little more, then turned and slapped a key on the counter. "Pull your fucking finger out, all right? I'm too fucking bloated to come running after your sorry ass."
She wants to say that she walked out; really, given the size of her belly - what was she expecting, a fucking army?! - it was more like waddling. It was fine, though. Because, the next weekend, Randal's suitcase was in the spare room, and it wasn't 'spare' any more.
*
It was like a Playgirl fantasy, kinda, except that neither of the guys were particularly buff, and she wasn't actually having sex with either of them. It was a 'no sex' month, apparently - who the fuck knew you got those? She had been under the impression that pregnant women were randy as all hell - and Dante was doing his best to respect that. Of course, it meant that he pretty much used up all the hot water every morning, but what the hell.
The pregnancy made doing simple things difficult. Like changing a light bulb, for instance; since when was climbing on a chair a hanging offence? To listen to Dante go on about it, though, she might as well have been shooting up in the nursery.
Oh - plus? Nursery. Randal barricaded the door a few days after he moved in, and declared it to be his pet project. As long as he turned up to work, Dante didn't seem to care, so she let it go too. Although, yeah, she had a few nightmares about looking in after the birth and finding that her baby was sleeping in an exact replica of the control room of the Death Star.
Randal had laughed when she'd mentioned it. "Don't be stupid; that'd be traumatic for an infant. The original was destroyed with such a loss of life it would undoubtedly imbue the child with such a deep fucking melancholy, that -"
Yeah, right. She shoved a waffle in his mouth to shut him up.
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-01-25 08:14 pm (UTC)Loved the bit about the Death Star.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-25 08:58 pm (UTC)*g* But now they're in the house and I gotta get all three of them on the bed... *plots logistics*
I'm so glad that you're enjoying it!