One of God's children

(kind but untamed/a terrible man, a great man)


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Honolulu Heights, Barry Island, Friday
mitchell: lighting up
chose_humanity
Most of the people Mitchell knew on-island had long since left it - and even if they hadn't, the joy of Annie's return would have ensured that he hadn't exactly been paying attention to any shenanigans going on at the island. Instead, he was crashed out on the sofa in the living room, watching some new reality show on the telly.

Annie was sitting primly... in the other room; they had taken some time to find her a place, but she seemed quite happy there-- here, now.

So all had ended well.

You know. As long as Mitchell chose not to think about the little errand Lia had given him in purgatory. Which he did. With great abandon.

He lit another cigarette and sat back with his beer.

[[ for a very frustrated succubus... ]]

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Just how strong was that front door at Honolulu Heights? Because that was one hell of a knock.

Or actually, about eight hells of a knock.

And... that was Mitchell, looking fairly disturbed by it all. He glanced towards the kitchen - just to make sure no werewolves would barge in and find themselves face to face with an angry vampire, or whatever it was making noise like that - and then went for the door.

Which he opened. Warily. "What the h-- Bo?"

Bo?

She had a plastic-wrapped bundt cake in one hand and door-marks on the other, and he didn't need those lips for anything pressing right now, did he?

That... was Bo all right.

Mitchell wrapped his arms around her mostly as a matter of reflex. "Woah," he said, pulling back briefly. "Someone's hungry..."

"Oh God, you have no idea." He also wasn't using his ass at the moment, right? Because Bo had a free hand and there was a wall vaguely nearby and you really couldn't describe the pushing him toward it as a nudge at all. "I've been locked in my apartment while the rest of the freakin' island screws itself stupid for two days."

Very hungry, then.

"That time of the year?" Mitchell asked, as he figured he wouldn't be getting his arse back any time soon. "Bo. Upstairs."

Lest they traumatize George. More.

"Stairs?"

That sounded...complex. And like it required moving. Also, Bo, don't hit him in the back of the head with the bundt cake.

"Bo!" Yes, please don't. "Look, let's just... put the cake down in the living room and head up the stairs."

Sigh. Hungry succubi were hard to deal with, as it turned out.

"Cake?" Yeeeah, you should probably just take that away from her, Mitchell. Even if doing so would leave her with a free hand.

Mitchell reached for the cake and... gently pried it out of her hand. "Cake," he agreed. "Come on."

And attempted to slip out of her grasp. Briefly. To put down the cake.

"Nooooooo..."

At least she moved with him. Like a superstrong, super-clingy octopus. Or maybe it only seemed like she had that many hands.

"Maybe you do not understand the level of desperation here." That would have come off oddly coherent for the circumstances if she hadn't been trying to nip at his neck between every word. "I had phone sex with the Portalocity dude, Mitchell."

"Right, right--"

She was being very distracting! But George. And scandal. And all that. "Come on--"

Instead of talking, he'd just drag her up the stairs. Which was probably using up his one brilliant idea for the day.

A better brilliant idea might have been to cover her mouth while he dragged her. "Hi, Annie! Glad you're not dead anymore!" Which wasn't entirely accurate but whatever. "I brought cake!"

It was almost like being drunk. In the 'ask a glass of water' sense.

"Come on," Mitchell said, and look, that was the last part of the stairs!

The bedroom seemed like such a long, long mile away... "Second door--"

"On the left and--" Lick. Mitchell tasted like beer. This was not a problem. "--straight on til morning?"

That sounded like an excellent idea to Bo.

Mitchell laughed, a little less with the bustling her onwards now that they were at least out of the zone of George trauma. "Sure, if that's what you want," he said, and pushed her into the room.

Then kissed her. It seemed fair after making her wait this long.

Was the zone of George trauma a purely visual one?

If not, in her defense, Bo didn't mean to to make the bed make that noise a few moments later.

She was absolutely willing to pay for a new one, too.

Edited at 2012-02-21 03:18 am (UTC)

Good. Good, because that was a pretty nice bed.

That noise caused something of a chain reaction downstairs - namely George shrieking audibly - but Mitchell just shut the door behind him and pulled his shirt off.

"Your safeword is throwing me across the room," Bo supplied helpfully.

...It had worked for other people.

Mitchell raised an eyebrow.

"I will keep that in mind," he assured her. "But I don't think we need to start breaking the door just yet."

Shoes and socks: also off. Practical.

Then he crawled onto the bed.

There was something Bo was forgetting to say. (Aside from "Stop wearing pants now.") It was on the tip of her tongue.

...It would be on the tip of her tongue in a second, when it was no longer busy.

Oh. Right.

"Hi!"

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