Stuff100: Wholesome Recreation
Dec. 13th, 2011 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeWholesome Recreation
Summary: Thomas casts aspersions on M.D.’s choice in activities and partners with which to perform them.
Notes: This is the other side of the thematic coin to ‘Struck,' only this one ISN'T AU. Thomas doesn't really believe what he says either; he's just trolling M.D.
“What I don’t get is why you hang out with that guy. Jesus.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. Thomas was normally the most secure, even-tempered person in the room. I wasn’t sure what it was about Biff that got him into such harebrained dominance displays, but I really wished he’d just get over it before the testosterone poisoned me.
“You don’t have to get it,” I said. “You just have to accept it.”
“Oh come on, that’s bull. Seriously, what’s he got that I don’t?”
“An ability to cook.”
“I don’t care if his baked Alaska makes you see God! That’s not a reason to hang out with him.”
Raige was pretending to be totally absorbed in his trashy sci-fi romance novel and his music, but I was pretty sure his headphones weren’t even on, seeing the effect I had on electronics. No, more likely he was just staying out of the way so he could pretend he hadn’t put the same question to me a few times.
“Seriously, y’all both say y’all hate each other all the time. What do y'all do together, just glare at each other all day?”
“Pretty much.”
Raige looked like he was hiding a smile behind his paperback.
“Bullcrap! You’ve got to have a reason—”
“They fight,” Raige said.
“What?”
“They fight.”
I glared at Raige. Thomas just looked perplexed.
“What, you mean like spar?”
Raige made a noncommittal noise and ostensibly went back to his book. Thomas only looked more aggravated.
“That’s it? Jeez, M.D., I could spar with you, and I won’t beat the crap out of you doing it either.”
“That’s why I don’t fight with you, Thomas.”
He stared at me blankly.
“You hold back.”
Thomas was silent for a moment. Then he put his hands on his hips, squinted at me, and said, “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re friends with Biff—”
“We’re not friends.”
“You’re whatever with Biff… so you can beat the crap out of each other?”
“Pretty much.”
Thomas stared at me. Then he stared at Raige, but Raige was drinking his Mountain Dew and pretending to be above it all. Then he threw out his arms.
“What the hell, kid? Why—”
By this point, I’d had enough. I’d been putting up with Thomas’s whiny chest-beating all afternoon, and he was like a perpetual motion machine. So before I could stop myself, I snapped, “Because it feels good, all right?”
Well, it made Thomas shut up, at least. For a moment. He stared at Raige again like he was awaiting an explanation, but Raige just said primly, “I don’t get it, I just accept it,” and turned his page.
Then Thomas looked back at me. He seemed to be puzzling the information out, and then his face lit up like he’d just figured out the secret of the universe.
Then he chuckled and said, “God, y’all’re perverted.”
“What?”
Raige made a suspicious choking noise behind his book. I ignored him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh come on. You don’t cuddle. You don’t touch anyone. But being punched in the face ‘feels good.’” I’d never seen someone imbue air quotes with such Freudian intent. “That explains a lot, actually. No wonder you—”
“Thomas, I realize your mind’s permanent residence is 123 Gutter Street, Gutterville, Gutter State of Gutter Land, but you are on drugs if you think—”
Thomas didn’t even attempt looking wounded. “I’m not on drugs! Add spiked heels and a bullwhip, and no one would know the difference—”
“I’m not fighting in heels, Thomas. And do you have any idea what kind of damage a bullwhip can do in the wrong hands?”
“I thought that was the point.”
“I want to get a bit bruised and bloody, not scarred for frogging life!”
When it came to arguments, nobody could beat me logically like Raige. Nobody could rival me in volume like Biff. But Thomas could ignore me like nobody else on the planet. He plowed on like I hadn’t said a thing. “I should’ve known. It’s always the repressed ones who do the kinky stuff—”
“I don’t do—” And for a moment, I came to my senses. Why was I talking about this? Why was I acting as though this conversation was at all reasonable? “Stop tainting my recreation!”
“Oh yeah, your innocent funtime, uh huh.”
“It’s disgusting! He’s like, twenty-five!”
“Oh, I see, so getting punched in the face by him, that’s totally okay, not creepy or weird at all. You’re the one who talks about psychology all the time; you don’t think there’s anything Freudian about hitting each other because it ‘feels good?’”
“No,” I said firmly. “Sometimes, a fist is just a fist, Thomas.”
“And sometimes it’s a big throbbing substitute for—”
Out of desperation, I turned to my one remaining ally. “Raige! Help me!”
“I am not involved with this conversation,” came the response.
“But—”
“Not. Involved.” Page flip.
“That means he agrees with me,” Thomas said.
“I don’t agree with you,” Raige corrected. “I’m neutral. Like Switzerland. Anyway, I don’t even think you agree with you, I just think you’re tormenting M.D.”
“Well yeah, she makes it so easy…”
Thus abandoned, I took the last route of the conversationally beleaguered: I ran away.
“Don’t forget to use a glove!” Thomas called after me, and I slammed the door in his face.
That evening, I went to visit Biff, as had become customary on Thursdays. Either he hadn’t had work, or he’d finished it off early; he was home and already moving furniture out of the way.
“Hey,” I said.
He didn’t look up from where he was trying to collapse the rusty table. “Hey. You got any rubbing alcohol? I’m out.”
“Uh…” I scratched my calf with the toe of my opposite sneaker. “Can we not fight today?”
Biff paused to look at me over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow.
“Can’t we maybe do something more… wholesome?”
“Wholesome.” No intonation.
“You know. Not…”
“Us?”
I sighed. Right. Like we were known for our baseball and homemade apple pie activities. It was stupid to have even asked.
Biff was looking at me with affected boredom, waiting for the inevitably ridiculous explanation. I scowled. Curse Thomas for taking something—well, not innocent, really, but at least it wasn’t something repulsive—and turning it into something perverted.
“Have you ever pondered the Freudian implications of what we do?” I asked.
Biff’s expression didn’t change. He struggled to snap the battered table legs back out into position. “Help me with this table, will ya? We’ll play cards tonight.”
I rushed over to help him undo the folding and set it back straight.
“Poker or gin?”
“Gin. You cheat too much at poker.”
“You just say that cuz I cheat better’n you.”
He got out a beer, I got a glass of water, and we sat down. I won the rock-paper-scissors match, so I dealt. We sloughed a few cards, picked them up; I could already tell I was playing badly.
“The Mexican kid?” Biff said finally.
“He has a name, you know. Eventually, you really need to learn it.”
He shrugged and grunted, and for a while, the game continued. Then he shook the ash off his cigarette, snorted, and said, “Kid, I’m lonely, but I ain’t that lonely.”
I made a face and sloughed a jack.
Summary: Thomas casts aspersions on M.D.’s choice in activities and partners with which to perform them.
Notes: This is the other side of the thematic coin to ‘Struck,' only this one ISN'T AU. Thomas doesn't really believe what he says either; he's just trolling M.D.
“What I don’t get is why you hang out with that guy. Jesus.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. Thomas was normally the most secure, even-tempered person in the room. I wasn’t sure what it was about Biff that got him into such harebrained dominance displays, but I really wished he’d just get over it before the testosterone poisoned me.
“You don’t have to get it,” I said. “You just have to accept it.”
“Oh come on, that’s bull. Seriously, what’s he got that I don’t?”
“An ability to cook.”
“I don’t care if his baked Alaska makes you see God! That’s not a reason to hang out with him.”
Raige was pretending to be totally absorbed in his trashy sci-fi romance novel and his music, but I was pretty sure his headphones weren’t even on, seeing the effect I had on electronics. No, more likely he was just staying out of the way so he could pretend he hadn’t put the same question to me a few times.
“Seriously, y’all both say y’all hate each other all the time. What do y'all do together, just glare at each other all day?”
“Pretty much.”
Raige looked like he was hiding a smile behind his paperback.
“Bullcrap! You’ve got to have a reason—”
“They fight,” Raige said.
“What?”
“They fight.”
I glared at Raige. Thomas just looked perplexed.
“What, you mean like spar?”
Raige made a noncommittal noise and ostensibly went back to his book. Thomas only looked more aggravated.
“That’s it? Jeez, M.D., I could spar with you, and I won’t beat the crap out of you doing it either.”
“That’s why I don’t fight with you, Thomas.”
He stared at me blankly.
“You hold back.”
Thomas was silent for a moment. Then he put his hands on his hips, squinted at me, and said, “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re friends with Biff—”
“We’re not friends.”
“You’re whatever with Biff… so you can beat the crap out of each other?”
“Pretty much.”
Thomas stared at me. Then he stared at Raige, but Raige was drinking his Mountain Dew and pretending to be above it all. Then he threw out his arms.
“What the hell, kid? Why—”
By this point, I’d had enough. I’d been putting up with Thomas’s whiny chest-beating all afternoon, and he was like a perpetual motion machine. So before I could stop myself, I snapped, “Because it feels good, all right?”
Well, it made Thomas shut up, at least. For a moment. He stared at Raige again like he was awaiting an explanation, but Raige just said primly, “I don’t get it, I just accept it,” and turned his page.
Then Thomas looked back at me. He seemed to be puzzling the information out, and then his face lit up like he’d just figured out the secret of the universe.
Then he chuckled and said, “God, y’all’re perverted.”
“What?”
Raige made a suspicious choking noise behind his book. I ignored him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh come on. You don’t cuddle. You don’t touch anyone. But being punched in the face ‘feels good.’” I’d never seen someone imbue air quotes with such Freudian intent. “That explains a lot, actually. No wonder you—”
“Thomas, I realize your mind’s permanent residence is 123 Gutter Street, Gutterville, Gutter State of Gutter Land, but you are on drugs if you think—”
Thomas didn’t even attempt looking wounded. “I’m not on drugs! Add spiked heels and a bullwhip, and no one would know the difference—”
“I’m not fighting in heels, Thomas. And do you have any idea what kind of damage a bullwhip can do in the wrong hands?”
“I thought that was the point.”
“I want to get a bit bruised and bloody, not scarred for frogging life!”
When it came to arguments, nobody could beat me logically like Raige. Nobody could rival me in volume like Biff. But Thomas could ignore me like nobody else on the planet. He plowed on like I hadn’t said a thing. “I should’ve known. It’s always the repressed ones who do the kinky stuff—”
“I don’t do—” And for a moment, I came to my senses. Why was I talking about this? Why was I acting as though this conversation was at all reasonable? “Stop tainting my recreation!”
“Oh yeah, your innocent funtime, uh huh.”
“It’s disgusting! He’s like, twenty-five!”
“Oh, I see, so getting punched in the face by him, that’s totally okay, not creepy or weird at all. You’re the one who talks about psychology all the time; you don’t think there’s anything Freudian about hitting each other because it ‘feels good?’”
“No,” I said firmly. “Sometimes, a fist is just a fist, Thomas.”
“And sometimes it’s a big throbbing substitute for—”
Out of desperation, I turned to my one remaining ally. “Raige! Help me!”
“I am not involved with this conversation,” came the response.
“But—”
“Not. Involved.” Page flip.
“That means he agrees with me,” Thomas said.
“I don’t agree with you,” Raige corrected. “I’m neutral. Like Switzerland. Anyway, I don’t even think you agree with you, I just think you’re tormenting M.D.”
“Well yeah, she makes it so easy…”
Thus abandoned, I took the last route of the conversationally beleaguered: I ran away.
“Don’t forget to use a glove!” Thomas called after me, and I slammed the door in his face.
That evening, I went to visit Biff, as had become customary on Thursdays. Either he hadn’t had work, or he’d finished it off early; he was home and already moving furniture out of the way.
“Hey,” I said.
He didn’t look up from where he was trying to collapse the rusty table. “Hey. You got any rubbing alcohol? I’m out.”
“Uh…” I scratched my calf with the toe of my opposite sneaker. “Can we not fight today?”
Biff paused to look at me over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow.
“Can’t we maybe do something more… wholesome?”
“Wholesome.” No intonation.
“You know. Not…”
“Us?”
I sighed. Right. Like we were known for our baseball and homemade apple pie activities. It was stupid to have even asked.
Biff was looking at me with affected boredom, waiting for the inevitably ridiculous explanation. I scowled. Curse Thomas for taking something—well, not innocent, really, but at least it wasn’t something repulsive—and turning it into something perverted.
“Have you ever pondered the Freudian implications of what we do?” I asked.
Biff’s expression didn’t change. He struggled to snap the battered table legs back out into position. “Help me with this table, will ya? We’ll play cards tonight.”
I rushed over to help him undo the folding and set it back straight.
“Poker or gin?”
“Gin. You cheat too much at poker.”
“You just say that cuz I cheat better’n you.”
He got out a beer, I got a glass of water, and we sat down. I won the rock-paper-scissors match, so I dealt. We sloughed a few cards, picked them up; I could already tell I was playing badly.
“The Mexican kid?” Biff said finally.
“He has a name, you know. Eventually, you really need to learn it.”
He shrugged and grunted, and for a while, the game continued. Then he shook the ash off his cigarette, snorted, and said, “Kid, I’m lonely, but I ain’t that lonely.”
I made a face and sloughed a jack.
