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ficlet: Domino/Cable, no title.
Set around the recent Cable & Deadpool issues. 440 words. PG for swearing and bad language. Het.
There's a saying that goes "One tequila. Two tequila. Three tequila. Floor."
Domino was discovering its accuracy.
A glance at the half-empty bottle of tequila confirmed her first thought: no, he really had drunk only three shots. And she'd drunk three, too, but she wasn't exactly feeling it.
She nudged the inert mass at her feet with a toe. He was lucky she wasn't wearing steel toes, tonight.
The mass shifted, but didn't wake.
"Nate?"
Still nothing.
A sigh escaped her. Damn. There went the fun and games for the night and she'd just been getting started. "Idiot. Wake up, 'cause I can't fucking carry you." When there was still no reply, she cursed again and kicked him. A groan, but no movement. Raising her voice, she shouted, "Prestor John! A little help over here!"
The large man (not as large as Nate, of course, but Dom was pretty sure only the Hulk was as large as Nate), wandered over and looked down at the recumbent figure. "What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything," she waved a hand at the tequila, "He had three shots, then, bam."
"Ah." John studied him, then raised his head to look at Domino. "And what'd you need me for?"
"To move him. I can't carry him--" this was patently obvious, given that you could make four Dominos from one Cable. She half-glared at the man, "--so I thought you could."
"He's a bit big, even for me. Hang on, let me get some help."
"I'm sure you'll have lots of luck," Domino called as he moved away. "People love helping a fallen God." she finished in a mutter.
She kicked him again with no luck, then went back to her tequila.
In the end, it took five men to lift and transport Nathan back to their bedroom. Dom directed them to dump him, the bottle of tequila in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other. When they'd finished, she sat cross-legged at the head of the bed and elbowed him. "You recovered yet?"
A groan answered her.
"Fine." She downed her seventh shot. "I'll just have fun without you."
Which she did, sort of. Most of the tequila was gone by the time she got bored with it and curled up against Nathan's non-TO side, muttering about the cold and how he was an ass and a lump of annoyance.
His response was to sling his arm around her, nudge her legs with his knee and turn his head to kiss her cheek.
Domino growled about stupid sentimentality, but nevertheless pulled the comforter over herself. And even shared some with Nathan.
-f-
There's a saying that goes "One tequila. Two tequila. Three tequila. Floor."
Domino was discovering its accuracy.
A glance at the half-empty bottle of tequila confirmed her first thought: no, he really had drunk only three shots. And she'd drunk three, too, but she wasn't exactly feeling it.
She nudged the inert mass at her feet with a toe. He was lucky she wasn't wearing steel toes, tonight.
The mass shifted, but didn't wake.
"Nate?"
Still nothing.
A sigh escaped her. Damn. There went the fun and games for the night and she'd just been getting started. "Idiot. Wake up, 'cause I can't fucking carry you." When there was still no reply, she cursed again and kicked him. A groan, but no movement. Raising her voice, she shouted, "Prestor John! A little help over here!"
The large man (not as large as Nate, of course, but Dom was pretty sure only the Hulk was as large as Nate), wandered over and looked down at the recumbent figure. "What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything," she waved a hand at the tequila, "He had three shots, then, bam."
"Ah." John studied him, then raised his head to look at Domino. "And what'd you need me for?"
"To move him. I can't carry him--" this was patently obvious, given that you could make four Dominos from one Cable. She half-glared at the man, "--so I thought you could."
"He's a bit big, even for me. Hang on, let me get some help."
"I'm sure you'll have lots of luck," Domino called as he moved away. "People love helping a fallen God." she finished in a mutter.
She kicked him again with no luck, then went back to her tequila.
In the end, it took five men to lift and transport Nathan back to their bedroom. Dom directed them to dump him, the bottle of tequila in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other. When they'd finished, she sat cross-legged at the head of the bed and elbowed him. "You recovered yet?"
A groan answered her.
"Fine." She downed her seventh shot. "I'll just have fun without you."
Which she did, sort of. Most of the tequila was gone by the time she got bored with it and curled up against Nathan's non-TO side, muttering about the cold and how he was an ass and a lump of annoyance.
His response was to sling his arm around her, nudge her legs with his knee and turn his head to kiss her cheek.
Domino growled about stupid sentimentality, but nevertheless pulled the comforter over herself. And even shared some with Nathan.
-f-
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I think you mean "four Dominos". (And in one universe, I'm sure someone has tried.)
I love it!!!!!!!!! I miss cute, less-angsty-than-normal Nate/Dom. I should write some.
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Awww. Thank you =)
And you should totally write some.
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