WEBPAGE: www.geocities.com/iwannabedonna
PAIRING: Adam/Brennan
CATEGORY: Fluff, Romance
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: It's the night they all go out.
FEEDBACK: Is best served with lots of details, but also rather enjoyable when straight to the point. (Hey! It's SEX!)
ARCHIVE INSTRUCTIONS: WWOMB, Slash Mutant X, my site, other people I may have promised it to but forgot.
Disclaimer: They belong to whoever it is they belong to. I'm to damned lazy to care. Just know I make no money.
Author's Notes: Okay, the Lesbian Thursday is a real joke with myself and a bunch of my friends. It will soon be five-years-old. Mr. Bungle is a real band. They play demented circus music.
*****
I miss him on Thursdays. Thursday is the night that they all go out to drink and party and try to be a little 'average' in a roomful of people they don't know, and who don't know what they can do. I'm always invited, but I always decline. I like the near-total silence of everything when everyone's gone. But I still miss him.
They always leave around eight in a swirl of make up and colgone and some long-running joke that belongs to Shalimar and Emma about Lesbian Thursdays. I've never asked. Don't really need to since I find the title pretty self-explanatory. And when they leave, and the quiet settles, I'm happy. It never gets quiet here. There's always someone making some kind of noise, even with just the five of us, but on Thursday nights it gets quiet, and I enjoy it.
But sometime between the hours when I've enjoyed my quiet, I start to miss him. I miss all of them, but him the most, because when you're madly in love, you always miss that person the most.
I start looking at the clock, and my concentration fails me, and I find useless things to do that just makes me rearrange my desk, and then rearrange it back, and when the door opens, and they come in loud and excited-tired, something in me feels better.
And when he walks right over, throws his arms around me, and kisses me hello, I'm so glad I didn't go with them, because then I wouldn't get this warm, liquor-flavored kiss that always ends with him murmuring against my lips. "Wanna hear about tonight?"
And I always answer against his lips, "sure."
And he tells me as everyone says their goodnights, and we walk to our room, and we undress and shower and crawl into bed to curl around each other in the middle. I hear about the girl that pinned Jesse to the wall and did things that could get them both arrested, and I hear about the guy Shalimar made her feral eyes at when he didn't take Emma's 'no thank you' for a dance just as it was meant, and he tells me about the girl that dropped a drink on his boots, his *boots*, for crying out loud, and the group at a table near the back that made bets on who could get Shalimar in bed, and how quickly they scattered when she gave them her best glare.
And he tells me about the second club, and the second group of people, and the way the DJ seemed to have every song he requested, even the really-off-the-wall stuff like Mr. Bungle, and how he and Jesse jumped in the mosh pit, and how Jesse went through the floor when they dropped him and he phased, and how he convinced a roomful of people he was the next Houdini by lighting a few candles with his fingertips.
Then, as always, he kisses me again, slow and sleepy, with his tongue just missing my mouth and grazing the inside of my bottom lip, and asks his usual question. "Why don't you come?"
"I like a little quiet." It's my usual answer, and half the truth. I also like missing him a little because it makes Thursday nights that much sweeter.
Created on ... April 29, 2003