Tequila virgins?
Dec. 22nd, 2003 12:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveI had a whole heap of things I wanted to prattle on about, but then I thought about Jude Law breakdancing last night on Inside the Actors Studio (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
poopins I heart you for the reminder), and it was all “Thoughts? Pfft.”
Also, Earthquake. Huh.
Right now I miss London/ East Coast/ anyplace not here.
The O.C.
The O.C. Drinking Game
Later on, Seth would realize that he was the poster child for the Society for Those Oblivious to Being Seduced. At the time though, he thought he was masterfully avoiding the pitfalls of alcoholic rambling about sex, love and people saying ‘thank you.’ After all, having sex with someone didn’t entitle Seth to open up the floodgates of girliness, of that he was pretty sure.
And as such, “I’m a shots virgin,” seemed like a good defense when he was confronted with the stuff of fantasies.
It wasn’t necessarily the smartest thing he’d ever said, but Ryan tended to make him a little stupider than everybody else, so he felt it was important to put that disclaimer out there.
“Not a virgin in the sex sense,” Seth said clarifying the obvious, since that also seemed imperative to whatever was coming next. “But more a virgin in the ‘shots-of-alcohol-being-licked-off-people’ sense. Like I’ve never sucked alcohol out of somebody’s navel, even though I’ve thought about it, because, you know, bellybutton lint. You never know where some people's bellybuttons have been.
“Not that I think your bellybutton, or navel, or body has been anywhere unhygienic,” Seth babbled, gesturing to Ryan’s tee-shirt-and-jean-clad figure. “But other people, I don’t know about their bellybuttons, and really, why would I want to put my tongue there?”
Seth’s ramble died of its own accord as Ryan shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, leaned against the doorway and rested the bottle of tequila on his hip.
Yes, Ryan had hips. Not hips in the girl sense, Seth was at pains to point out, but the other kind commonly found on Calvin Klein models. The kind that Seth liked to trace with his tongue for many hours at a time, and and... Seth had been having a thought there, but it got lost on the runaway train of Ryan’s smirk and catching the bag full of limes that Ryan tossed his way.
“Nobody said anything about body shots,” Ryan pointed out.
“Right, no. Of course nobody said anything about body shots, who was talking about body shots?” Seth protested.
“Make yourself useful,” Ryan said, nodding towards the kitchen.
“I’m totally useful,” Seth protested dogging Ryan’s steps into the small poolhouse kitchen and retrieving an entirely-too-sharp-and-long knife. “I’m more useful than –- something really useful. I’ll get back to you.”
He really needed to stay away from the phallic imagery and sweeping statements about alcohol consumption; especially considering that Ryan’s first week living with them he’d drunkenly tried to clock him. Of course he’d failed miserably, but no one on God’s green earth would ever believe that Seth Cohen was a teetotaler. Not that Seth was always sure about the existence of God, or the non-existence of God either. Actually, Seth was more of a “show me, tell me repeatedly, and I’ll believe it, rather than giving me lots of books and telling me to have faith when I was an outcast for sixteen years and eight months of my existence on this godawful planet.”
But even that litany mentioned God, and Seth wasn’t really in for the God comparisons. Unless he was talking about Ryan’s Messiah complex. Besides, Seth was Jewish. And Protestant. And Ryan was, well, Atwood wasn’t a Hebrew name, unless it had been changed from like Atwoodberg or something.
But Seth was digressing, because that’s what Seth did: he digressed. Especially when propositioned by one Ryan Atwood, perhaps once Atwoodstein, when said person was holding a bottle of tequila and inquiring about the whereabouts of the salt while smirking.
Ryan was always about the smirking.
Ryan’s smirking made Seth nervous. It also made him horny, but being horny and nervous wasn’t a very good combination, and in the end, it wasn’t the potential for stupendous amounts of drinking stupidity that made Seth accident-prone.
It wasn’t the deceptively glossy surface of the limes that made the knife slipperier than normal, either.
It was all Ryan fault, the way it was always Ryan’s fault when Seth did something incredibly stupid and Seth-like, because Ryan distracted Seth by just existing.
So, really, it was Ryan’s fault that Seth sliced his finger with the most obvious phallic imagery he could find.
Between the blood, and the pain of lime juice seeping into the wrong places, and the cursing because Seth would’ve cut off his finger if he hadn’t actually had a fingernail to keep from him turning into Frodo, he had enough presence of mind to move to the sink and run his finger under lukewarm tape water until the throbbing stopped.
His rather belated “Ow,” was Ryan’s signal to come and save Seth from himself.
“Why am I not surprised?” Ryan asked as Seth lifted his finger and pointed to the tiny imperfection that perhaps could’ve been called a cut.
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?”
As an injured party, Seth had every right to scowl and look anguished. He’d been told – albeit by his mom – that he did anguished very well.
“There’s no blood,” Ryan pointed out.
“Are you saying that just because I’m not gushing blood like Kill Bill, that my pain is less real than say, um, anybody else who’s almost had something cut off?” Seth demanded.
The rolling of Ryan’s eyes spoke volumes.
“Suck on this,” Ryan said, grabbing a wedge of lime and slipping it between Seth’s lips before he could say anything further. “It’ll kill the pain – yours and mine.”
Seth sucked on the bitter slice as Ryan cracked open the bottle of Jose Cuervo. “Are you calling me a pain?” he asked after removing the lime from his mouth.
Again, Ryan’s silence spoke volumes.
“I think I should be offended,” Seth said. “In fact I’m pretty sure you’ve just insulted me thoroughly and called me a pain on the level of a paper cut, or a knife cut, or –“ Seth’s litany died as Ryan grabbed his injured hand and licked his palm.
The sprinkling of salt tickled slightly, but the wet roughness of Ryan’s tongue sweeping over his palm killed the smile on Seth’s face pretty quickly. In fact, a shiver started somewhere in the toes of Seth’s Pumas and worked its way upwards until it began to wrack his body like a sizeable earthquake.
“You talk too much,” Ryan commented before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. The upward tilt of his head left very little doubt as to what he was planning, and Seth stepped forward to meet him halfway.
“I should drink more,” he nodded judiciously as Ryan leaned forward.
Seth was busy closing his eyes at the time, but it certainly seemed as though Ryan was smirking at him again. He couldn’t really bring himself to care, paper cuts, body shot virgins and all.
Seth’s lips parted fractionally as warm liquid poured into his mouth, and with Ryan’s tongue slipping between his lips it took him several seconds to remember to swallow. The sharp bitterness burned its way down Seth’s throat as Ryan’s hands fisted in Seth’s shirt to keep him from fidgeting; some things were a given.
Ryan nipped at Seth’s bottom lip as he pulled away and a quick swipe of Seth’s tongue uncovered a few grains of salt on his lips.
“I am a virgin no more,” he said proudly as Ryan released his hold.
Ryan smirked. “That’s what I’m here for.”
-end-
Improv: nail, bitter, shiver, pain, rough
Notes: This was supposed to be about Chrismukkah, but um, yeah, it’s not. No, definitely not about Chrismukkah. Written to makeserialkarma smile despite all her ickiness, and for issaro, feel better soon.
poopins I heart you for the reminder), and it was all “Thoughts? Pfft.” Also, Earthquake. Huh.
Right now I miss London/ East Coast/ anyplace not here.
The O.C.
Later on, Seth would realize that he was the poster child for the Society for Those Oblivious to Being Seduced. At the time though, he thought he was masterfully avoiding the pitfalls of alcoholic rambling about sex, love and people saying ‘thank you.’ After all, having sex with someone didn’t entitle Seth to open up the floodgates of girliness, of that he was pretty sure.
And as such, “I’m a shots virgin,” seemed like a good defense when he was confronted with the stuff of fantasies.
It wasn’t necessarily the smartest thing he’d ever said, but Ryan tended to make him a little stupider than everybody else, so he felt it was important to put that disclaimer out there.
“Not a virgin in the sex sense,” Seth said clarifying the obvious, since that also seemed imperative to whatever was coming next. “But more a virgin in the ‘shots-of-alcohol-being-licked-off-people’ sense. Like I’ve never sucked alcohol out of somebody’s navel, even though I’ve thought about it, because, you know, bellybutton lint. You never know where some people's bellybuttons have been.
“Not that I think your bellybutton, or navel, or body has been anywhere unhygienic,” Seth babbled, gesturing to Ryan’s tee-shirt-and-jean-clad figure. “But other people, I don’t know about their bellybuttons, and really, why would I want to put my tongue there?”
Seth’s ramble died of its own accord as Ryan shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, leaned against the doorway and rested the bottle of tequila on his hip.
Yes, Ryan had hips. Not hips in the girl sense, Seth was at pains to point out, but the other kind commonly found on Calvin Klein models. The kind that Seth liked to trace with his tongue for many hours at a time, and and... Seth had been having a thought there, but it got lost on the runaway train of Ryan’s smirk and catching the bag full of limes that Ryan tossed his way.
“Nobody said anything about body shots,” Ryan pointed out.
“Right, no. Of course nobody said anything about body shots, who was talking about body shots?” Seth protested.
“Make yourself useful,” Ryan said, nodding towards the kitchen.
“I’m totally useful,” Seth protested dogging Ryan’s steps into the small poolhouse kitchen and retrieving an entirely-too-sharp-and-long knife. “I’m more useful than –- something really useful. I’ll get back to you.”
He really needed to stay away from the phallic imagery and sweeping statements about alcohol consumption; especially considering that Ryan’s first week living with them he’d drunkenly tried to clock him. Of course he’d failed miserably, but no one on God’s green earth would ever believe that Seth Cohen was a teetotaler. Not that Seth was always sure about the existence of God, or the non-existence of God either. Actually, Seth was more of a “show me, tell me repeatedly, and I’ll believe it, rather than giving me lots of books and telling me to have faith when I was an outcast for sixteen years and eight months of my existence on this godawful planet.”
But even that litany mentioned God, and Seth wasn’t really in for the God comparisons. Unless he was talking about Ryan’s Messiah complex. Besides, Seth was Jewish. And Protestant. And Ryan was, well, Atwood wasn’t a Hebrew name, unless it had been changed from like Atwoodberg or something.
But Seth was digressing, because that’s what Seth did: he digressed. Especially when propositioned by one Ryan Atwood, perhaps once Atwoodstein, when said person was holding a bottle of tequila and inquiring about the whereabouts of the salt while smirking.
Ryan was always about the smirking.
Ryan’s smirking made Seth nervous. It also made him horny, but being horny and nervous wasn’t a very good combination, and in the end, it wasn’t the potential for stupendous amounts of drinking stupidity that made Seth accident-prone.
It wasn’t the deceptively glossy surface of the limes that made the knife slipperier than normal, either.
It was all Ryan fault, the way it was always Ryan’s fault when Seth did something incredibly stupid and Seth-like, because Ryan distracted Seth by just existing.
So, really, it was Ryan’s fault that Seth sliced his finger with the most obvious phallic imagery he could find.
Between the blood, and the pain of lime juice seeping into the wrong places, and the cursing because Seth would’ve cut off his finger if he hadn’t actually had a fingernail to keep from him turning into Frodo, he had enough presence of mind to move to the sink and run his finger under lukewarm tape water until the throbbing stopped.
His rather belated “Ow,” was Ryan’s signal to come and save Seth from himself.
“Why am I not surprised?” Ryan asked as Seth lifted his finger and pointed to the tiny imperfection that perhaps could’ve been called a cut.
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?”
As an injured party, Seth had every right to scowl and look anguished. He’d been told – albeit by his mom – that he did anguished very well.
“There’s no blood,” Ryan pointed out.
“Are you saying that just because I’m not gushing blood like Kill Bill, that my pain is less real than say, um, anybody else who’s almost had something cut off?” Seth demanded.
The rolling of Ryan’s eyes spoke volumes.
“Suck on this,” Ryan said, grabbing a wedge of lime and slipping it between Seth’s lips before he could say anything further. “It’ll kill the pain – yours and mine.”
Seth sucked on the bitter slice as Ryan cracked open the bottle of Jose Cuervo. “Are you calling me a pain?” he asked after removing the lime from his mouth.
Again, Ryan’s silence spoke volumes.
“I think I should be offended,” Seth said. “In fact I’m pretty sure you’ve just insulted me thoroughly and called me a pain on the level of a paper cut, or a knife cut, or –“ Seth’s litany died as Ryan grabbed his injured hand and licked his palm.
The sprinkling of salt tickled slightly, but the wet roughness of Ryan’s tongue sweeping over his palm killed the smile on Seth’s face pretty quickly. In fact, a shiver started somewhere in the toes of Seth’s Pumas and worked its way upwards until it began to wrack his body like a sizeable earthquake.
“You talk too much,” Ryan commented before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. The upward tilt of his head left very little doubt as to what he was planning, and Seth stepped forward to meet him halfway.
“I should drink more,” he nodded judiciously as Ryan leaned forward.
Seth was busy closing his eyes at the time, but it certainly seemed as though Ryan was smirking at him again. He couldn’t really bring himself to care, paper cuts, body shot virgins and all.
Seth’s lips parted fractionally as warm liquid poured into his mouth, and with Ryan’s tongue slipping between his lips it took him several seconds to remember to swallow. The sharp bitterness burned its way down Seth’s throat as Ryan’s hands fisted in Seth’s shirt to keep him from fidgeting; some things were a given.
Ryan nipped at Seth’s bottom lip as he pulled away and a quick swipe of Seth’s tongue uncovered a few grains of salt on his lips.
“I am a virgin no more,” he said proudly as Ryan released his hold.
Ryan smirked. “That’s what I’m here for.”
-end-
Improv: nail, bitter, shiver, pain, rough
Notes: This was supposed to be about Chrismukkah, but um, yeah, it’s not. No, definitely not about Chrismukkah. Written to make
serialkarma smile despite all her ickiness, and for issaro, feel better soon.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 01:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 04:44 pm (UTC)I heart Seth in all his babbling glory.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 02:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 02:45 pm (UTC)You totally write the best OC fic ever. :D
no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 04:43 pm (UTC)[babbling about hot-man opinion] he talked a lot, i didn't hear a fair amount between company visiting and me staring, but i saw the breakdancing dammit, and he can be stupendously charming when he wants to be. [/babbling about hot-man opinion]
no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 04:48 pm (UTC)*laughs* He still needs a little house training, they don't put that on the packaging, but he does.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 10:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-22 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 10:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 07:37 am (UTC)Actually, Seth was more of a “show me, tell me repeatedly, and I’ll believe it, rather than giving me lots of books and telling me to have faith when I was an outcast for sixteen years and eight months of my existence on this godawful planet.”
Word, Seth. Or possibly, just "word", Seth.
Especially when propositioned by one Ryan Atwood, perhaps once Atwoodstein
also, this made me laugh like a loon, I'm not sure why exactly.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 07:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 10:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 10:21 am (UTC)*pets*
I take that to mean you're not feeling better? I'm sorry about that munchkin, really.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 09:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-23 10:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-24 01:57 pm (UTC)Also being from Paso Robles and living in a three story building I so share your sentiment on earthquakes.