FicWad

Detention

Hands on automatic pilot, their chore is nothing more than gory rote, as repetitive as instructive rhetoric written on a dusty blackboard by an errant schoolboy during wasteful eons after the last bell, but before being sent home to mother:

i will not start fights

i will play well with others

i will not pull mary ann's pigtails

i will not forget my homework

i will not tell lies

i will not re-animate the dead.

write that one again, herbert

i will not re-animate the dead

and do you mean it?

yes, ma'am

dismissed, then

i will not re-animate the dead

and do you mean it, herbert?

yes, daniel (/my love/)

do you, herbert? do you really?

yes, really (/my love my love my love, if i want/)

okay.

Chill of dead flesh shivers on the pads of his fingers as he touches lightly, with the care and conquest of a sensitive necrophiliac, his palm cupping a small breast, thumb circling one pale, dimpled areole. His eyes are trained upon the steady red light over the doorway, waiting. Heavy footfalls vibrate over his head.

you're late

i had-

(/detention?/)

-a little run-in with julie just as i was leaving. remember julie?

He remembers, of course he does. An answer is not expected, but he remembers her well enough to curl his fingers over the Bride's female flesh, hooking them into claws that dimple and strain her dead skin. Pretty, petite Julie who fawned over Dr. Cain.

(could i call you dan? could i get you a cup of coffee? do you need a pen, dr. cain-oops! I mean... /dan/)

well, she was just... getting a little pushy, i guess

The shadowy peripheral form of his partner flickers and stretches; he briskly strips the shirt he wore to work from his back, sweat stains circling below the sleeves like odorous Boy Scout badges of physical work. In a smooth, casual motion, he hangs it on the old coat-stand he had dragged down when they'd first moved in, and he is tugging on his well-worn pair of green operating scrubs.

i think she wants me to ask her out

Water beats a metallic tattoo in the basin of the serviceably plain stainless steel sink as he carefully washes his hands up to the elbows in preparation for his turn of duty squeezing and stitching their half-completed ragdoll, unaware of the eyes that have swiveled behind thick corrective lenses to assiduously follow his movements.

but i guess i'm just not really comfortable with that yet... you know?

of course (/because you're mine mine mine and all the julies of the world won't take you away, i'll make sure/)

that doesn't seem too weird, does it? herbert? you don't think I'm being... irrational, i guess... waiting too long... obsessing over-

(/the dead? oh, ask me about obsessing over the dead, daniel, and i'll tell you tales to challenge your sanity/)

there's nothing 'weird' about it

... do you really think that?

He bends over the ragged corpse, casually inspecting and evaluating what will be accomplished that evening as he snaps a pair of latex gloves over his hands. Dark hair brushes his forehead flirtatiously, much as the misaligned Julie would certainly like to do. Entirely unaware of his appeal, he turns his attention to a seam on the whore's thigh, running his fingertips delicately over the clamped femoral artery.

yes

how would you know? i've never seen you with a girl

His handsome, serious face breaks in a rare malevolent smile that is both inviting and nasty in its implications. While waiting for an answer, he absently strokes the cold, smooth grain of the intimate flesh beneath his fingers.

(/you idiot, that's because I'm too busy to worry about that sort of thing, all of my time is sucked up trying to keep you here with me, where you and your talented hands belong/)

i'm still human, daniel

sometimes, i guess

i resent the implication that i could be anything but, as our work is clearly rooted within humanity's best interests

all right, all right, whatever you say. don't get your panties in a twist, i was just kidding

well, be that as it may...

But the interlude has ended, and his words fall upon ears that have long since tuned out the sound of his voice. Sutures have again been taken up and the diligent work of life begins anew, as of a painter again handling his favorite brush and returning gleefully to the canvas he had left the night before. A tongue peeks between pale lips during this fugue of concentration, and broad palms grip their subject with a tenderness rarely afforded to the dead.

(/damn you, daniel, my love daniel/)

So he sighs and averts his eyes, allowing for the courtesy of one professional to another. His own mental projector picks up where it left off as he returns to his own delicate work, grimly playing and replaying the venial sins of his adulthood in a curiously childish way.

i will not start fights

i will play well with others

another hour of detention, herbert. you will write as i say

yes, ma'am

i will not daydream in class

i will not daydream about my partner

i will not fantasize about my partner

i will not fantasize about my colleague

i will not fantasize about my house-mate

i will not fantasize about my daniel

that's the one. write that one again, herbert

i will not