Cathryn (formerly catslash) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remindmeofthe) wrote2009-03-10 04:18 pm
remindmeofthe) wrote2009-03-10 04:18 pm
FIC: "All Downhill From Here," R, "The Fix"
Holy crap, I finally finished typing it up. In celebration, I give it a proper header, even though this is possibly the most obscure fandom I have ever written for and there's no damn place to link to it from.
TITLE: "All Downhill From Here"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catslash)
FANDOM: The Fix
WORD COUNT: Approximately 1700.
RATING: A solid R, I think.
SUMMARY: In the end, dumping the cripple for the jock is easier than Violet ever dreamed it would be. Harvard-era fic.
PAIRINGS: Every possible permutation of the Reed/Violet/Grahame triangle.
WARNINGS: I have given this a lot of thought, and you know what? I refuse to warn for incest in this fandom. So, NO WARNINGS.
DISCLAIMER: The Fix was created by Dana Rowe and John Dempsey. I take no credit, I make no money.
NOTES: Right, this is the sort of thing that would usually never make it to fic form, being primarily self-indulgent, but then I realized: there is no such thing as getting too ridiculous when it comes to The Fix. So, fic. Um, and if you do know of anywhere else I might be able to post this, let me know.
In the end, dumping the cripple for the jock is easier than Violet ever dreamed it would be.
It starts in Reed's car, necking furtively off-campus where no one can find them and carry stories back to Grahame.
(This is Reed's idea, not Violet's. Getting Grahame to dump her would make things so much easier, but Reed is afraid of their parents finding out. Violet suspects this is something she will have to get used to, at least if she can pull this off. She contents herself with the knowledge that one day, it will be her wrath Reed will be afraid of.)
She lets Reed grope her through her shirt, playing it coy and flustered while thinking that if she ever finds a guy her age who knows how to touch a woman it'll be a goddamned miracle. Tits have nerve endings, for Christ's sake, they're not there for his benefit alone.
"Oh, Violet, I love you," Reed says, half-muffled, into her neck. Violet rolls her eyes and starts counting down. She doesn't even make it to ten before Reed tries to put a hand up her shirt. The question, she thinks, is this: is his belief that she's stupid enough to buy it and let him get on with things down to a lack of decency, or a lack of brains? Usually, with Reed, it's the latter, but with the things he's especially full of himself about, like his alleged sexual prowess, it really could go either way.
It gives her the perfect opening, though.
"Oh, Reed," she says, breathless, pinning his hand in place so he won't be distracted, "I've been hoping you'd say that! I love you, too. But, Reed . . ." She gives him a wide-eyed, helpless girl look, and watches as his annoyance over being obstructed is overridden by the need to play the big strong man.
"Yes, Violet?" he asks, concerned. "What is it?"
"I just - I don't want to hurt Grahame. He's so sweet to me" - ha, as if Grahame had a sweet bone in his entire malformed body - "and it's not his fault that I don't - Reed?"
He's laughing. The confusion on Violet's face is genuine. This is not the reaction she had expected.
"Don't worry about Grahame, Violet, he doesn't care. I'm sorry, but it's true. I know he seems like a gentleman, and I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but the truth is, he's a queer."
Well.
That explains a lot.
For all that Reed has no idea what he's doing when he puts his hands on her, he's at least enthusiastic. Grahame has never shown the slightest bit of interest in her tits or any other part of her, and on the rare occasions that he kisses her, he does it like he's thinking of something else and doesn't care to be distracted. They've been dating long enough that she'd started to wonder if his dick had shrivelled up along with his legs.
"You know," Reed says, misinterpreting her blank look as she sorts this out. "A homosexual."
Then he surprises her again - it's a new record - as he smiles slyly. "I can prove it."
Violet will realize later that she should have paid more attention to the dirty edge in that smile. She doesn't give it much thought as Reed drives them back to the dorms, though. She's too busy hiding her glee as she plans. Grahame probably has a stash of dirty magazines or something. It seems odd that he'd keep something so incriminating around - isn't he too smart for that? - but whatever, it makes Violet's life easier so she's not going to question it. Reed will filch one from the room he shares with his brother, he'll show it to her, she'll turn on the tears and break up with Grahame, Reed can step in to comfort her, and voila. Easy as pie. This is possibly the best thing that's happened to her since she first learned that she was attending the same school as the Chandler brothers.
The first inkling she gets that something isn't quite right is at the door to the dorm room. Reed pauses there after he unlocks the door, and puts his key in Violet's hand.
"Just give me five minutes."
Five minutes for what? Getting a magazine? It's not as if Grahame - who's probably in there, doing Reed's schoolwork along with his own - can get to Reed in time to stop him.
"And Violet? Whatever you see when you come in? It's just a demonstration. It doesn't mean anything."
And with those incredibly unsettling words of comfort, Reed disappears into his room.
Even listening at the door, it's the longest five minutes of Violet's life. Harvard has to be the only school on the planet with decent sound-damping in its dormitories. Violet can hear voices, but she can't make out any words. Grahame's voice is impatient and irritated, Reed's sweetly coaxing. And after a couple of minutes, there isn't even that. Just an unexplained and confusing silence.
Frowning, Violet eases the key carefully into the lock. The locks in the dorms tend to make a lot of noise, so she takes her time, gritting her teeth as she does it. Reed is only ever this quiet when he's doing something in secret, and honestly, he's lucky Violet pays enough attention to know it, or whatever this plan of his is would be ruined before it began.
Finally, she gets the door open and steps inside, as light as she can on the hardwood floor. And then her continued silence requires no effort whatsoever, as what she sees freezes her to the spot.
Reed is straddling his brother in his desk chair, gripping the front of Grahame's shirt and kissing him with a fierceness Violet has never seen in him before and certainly never benefited from. The hold on Grahame's shirt is redundant, though - Grahame isn't exactly trying to push him away. Quite the opposite, in fact, with one hand knotted in Reed's thick hair and the other clutching his shoulder.
It's been a long time since Violet's been thrown for a loop, truly and sincerely shocked, but the scene before her is doing the job nicely. She stares, mouth open, unable to get her mental feet under her to think what to do next -
- until Reed, without skipping a beat kissing Grahame, opens his eyes, glances over at her, and winks.
Amazing, Violet thinks in disbelief, absofuckinglutely amazing. She holds up Reed's room key and lets it drop.
It clinks loudly onto the floor. Grahame stiffens for a split second, then lets go of Reed and shoves at him with more force than Violet would have thought a cripple could be capable of. But then again, it's pretty clear now that there isn't anything wrong with him from the dick up. Not physically, anyway.
"Violet!" he gasps, strangled, his eyes darting back and forth between his brother and his girlfriend.
"Oh, dear," Reed intones, with a rotund solemnity that makes Grahame glare at him.
"You -" he begins, but Reed talks right over him.
"I'm so sorry you had to see this, Violet," he says, sympathetic and smooth and so fake that Violet winces. He slides off Grahame as he speaks, smoothing his hair down where Grahame mussed it and making his way toward the door. "You two should probably talk. I'll just get out of your way." Violet steps aside wordlessly as he reaches past her for the doorknob. He winks again (she's really going to have to train him out of that), angled so Grahame can't see, and leaves.
Violet doesn't look at Grahame as she crosses the room, taking a few seconds to get her thoughts in order. She sits on the end of his bed, crossing her legs primly at the ankles, and looks up.
Grahame has taken the opportunity to grab a textbook and put it in his lap, which is, to Violet's mind, the most telling thing he could have done. His face is flushed - with anger or leftover lust? Violet wonders. Not that she could blame him for the latter; she'd be flushed and breathless, too, if Reed ever bothered to kiss her like that. The shock is cracking, amusement starting to take its place. She keeps it together, though, until she gets a look at Grahame's hands, whiteknuckled from gripping the textbook so tightly. Something about that sets her off, and she buries her face in her own hands and starts giggling.
"Violet?" Grahame sounds annoyed and alarmed - thinks she's crying, Violet realizes, which just makes her laugh harder.
She lets herself go for a few minutes, because god has she earned it tonight, before she takes a breath and pulls herself together, letting her hands drop. Grahame's color has settled back to normal, and he's watching her with a narrow-eyed look that doesn't belong on a boyfriend caught cheating by his girlfriend.
And with his brother, at that.
"Care to share the joke?" he asks acidly. And there's no point in pretending anymore, so Violet just says exactly what she's thinking:
"He really is that stupid, isn't he?"
Grahame's expression relaxes.
"Yes," he says, "he is." He smiles, a sharply sarcastic smile that Violet has never seen on his face before, and that suits him in a way that none of the other ones ever did. His real smile, she thinks, and repays it with a rare full-fledged grin of her own.
"Do you think you'll be able to handle that?" Grahame asks.
"I think I was born to handle that," she answers, with all the confidence she's kept hidden away in front of both of the Chandlers until now.
Grahame gives her a long, considering look.
"All right," he says, "you're welcome to it."
"Thanks, Grahame." Violet smirks. "You boys can keep fooling around, though, if you want. I don't mind sharing."
Grahame's smile disappears; he flushes again and glares. Good. Violet doesn't want him getting too comfortable.
TITLE: "All Downhill From Here"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (
catslash)FANDOM: The Fix
WORD COUNT: Approximately 1700.
RATING: A solid R, I think.
SUMMARY: In the end, dumping the cripple for the jock is easier than Violet ever dreamed it would be. Harvard-era fic.
PAIRINGS: Every possible permutation of the Reed/Violet/Grahame triangle.
WARNINGS: I have given this a lot of thought, and you know what? I refuse to warn for incest in this fandom. So, NO WARNINGS.
DISCLAIMER: The Fix was created by Dana Rowe and John Dempsey. I take no credit, I make no money.
NOTES: Right, this is the sort of thing that would usually never make it to fic form, being primarily self-indulgent, but then I realized: there is no such thing as getting too ridiculous when it comes to The Fix. So, fic. Um, and if you do know of anywhere else I might be able to post this, let me know.
In the end, dumping the cripple for the jock is easier than Violet ever dreamed it would be.
It starts in Reed's car, necking furtively off-campus where no one can find them and carry stories back to Grahame.
(This is Reed's idea, not Violet's. Getting Grahame to dump her would make things so much easier, but Reed is afraid of their parents finding out. Violet suspects this is something she will have to get used to, at least if she can pull this off. She contents herself with the knowledge that one day, it will be her wrath Reed will be afraid of.)
She lets Reed grope her through her shirt, playing it coy and flustered while thinking that if she ever finds a guy her age who knows how to touch a woman it'll be a goddamned miracle. Tits have nerve endings, for Christ's sake, they're not there for his benefit alone.
"Oh, Violet, I love you," Reed says, half-muffled, into her neck. Violet rolls her eyes and starts counting down. She doesn't even make it to ten before Reed tries to put a hand up her shirt. The question, she thinks, is this: is his belief that she's stupid enough to buy it and let him get on with things down to a lack of decency, or a lack of brains? Usually, with Reed, it's the latter, but with the things he's especially full of himself about, like his alleged sexual prowess, it really could go either way.
It gives her the perfect opening, though.
"Oh, Reed," she says, breathless, pinning his hand in place so he won't be distracted, "I've been hoping you'd say that! I love you, too. But, Reed . . ." She gives him a wide-eyed, helpless girl look, and watches as his annoyance over being obstructed is overridden by the need to play the big strong man.
"Yes, Violet?" he asks, concerned. "What is it?"
"I just - I don't want to hurt Grahame. He's so sweet to me" - ha, as if Grahame had a sweet bone in his entire malformed body - "and it's not his fault that I don't - Reed?"
He's laughing. The confusion on Violet's face is genuine. This is not the reaction she had expected.
"Don't worry about Grahame, Violet, he doesn't care. I'm sorry, but it's true. I know he seems like a gentleman, and I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but the truth is, he's a queer."
Well.
That explains a lot.
For all that Reed has no idea what he's doing when he puts his hands on her, he's at least enthusiastic. Grahame has never shown the slightest bit of interest in her tits or any other part of her, and on the rare occasions that he kisses her, he does it like he's thinking of something else and doesn't care to be distracted. They've been dating long enough that she'd started to wonder if his dick had shrivelled up along with his legs.
"You know," Reed says, misinterpreting her blank look as she sorts this out. "A homosexual."
Then he surprises her again - it's a new record - as he smiles slyly. "I can prove it."
Violet will realize later that she should have paid more attention to the dirty edge in that smile. She doesn't give it much thought as Reed drives them back to the dorms, though. She's too busy hiding her glee as she plans. Grahame probably has a stash of dirty magazines or something. It seems odd that he'd keep something so incriminating around - isn't he too smart for that? - but whatever, it makes Violet's life easier so she's not going to question it. Reed will filch one from the room he shares with his brother, he'll show it to her, she'll turn on the tears and break up with Grahame, Reed can step in to comfort her, and voila. Easy as pie. This is possibly the best thing that's happened to her since she first learned that she was attending the same school as the Chandler brothers.
The first inkling she gets that something isn't quite right is at the door to the dorm room. Reed pauses there after he unlocks the door, and puts his key in Violet's hand.
"Just give me five minutes."
Five minutes for what? Getting a magazine? It's not as if Grahame - who's probably in there, doing Reed's schoolwork along with his own - can get to Reed in time to stop him.
"And Violet? Whatever you see when you come in? It's just a demonstration. It doesn't mean anything."
And with those incredibly unsettling words of comfort, Reed disappears into his room.
Even listening at the door, it's the longest five minutes of Violet's life. Harvard has to be the only school on the planet with decent sound-damping in its dormitories. Violet can hear voices, but she can't make out any words. Grahame's voice is impatient and irritated, Reed's sweetly coaxing. And after a couple of minutes, there isn't even that. Just an unexplained and confusing silence.
Frowning, Violet eases the key carefully into the lock. The locks in the dorms tend to make a lot of noise, so she takes her time, gritting her teeth as she does it. Reed is only ever this quiet when he's doing something in secret, and honestly, he's lucky Violet pays enough attention to know it, or whatever this plan of his is would be ruined before it began.
Finally, she gets the door open and steps inside, as light as she can on the hardwood floor. And then her continued silence requires no effort whatsoever, as what she sees freezes her to the spot.
Reed is straddling his brother in his desk chair, gripping the front of Grahame's shirt and kissing him with a fierceness Violet has never seen in him before and certainly never benefited from. The hold on Grahame's shirt is redundant, though - Grahame isn't exactly trying to push him away. Quite the opposite, in fact, with one hand knotted in Reed's thick hair and the other clutching his shoulder.
It's been a long time since Violet's been thrown for a loop, truly and sincerely shocked, but the scene before her is doing the job nicely. She stares, mouth open, unable to get her mental feet under her to think what to do next -
- until Reed, without skipping a beat kissing Grahame, opens his eyes, glances over at her, and winks.
Amazing, Violet thinks in disbelief, absofuckinglutely amazing. She holds up Reed's room key and lets it drop.
It clinks loudly onto the floor. Grahame stiffens for a split second, then lets go of Reed and shoves at him with more force than Violet would have thought a cripple could be capable of. But then again, it's pretty clear now that there isn't anything wrong with him from the dick up. Not physically, anyway.
"Violet!" he gasps, strangled, his eyes darting back and forth between his brother and his girlfriend.
"Oh, dear," Reed intones, with a rotund solemnity that makes Grahame glare at him.
"You -" he begins, but Reed talks right over him.
"I'm so sorry you had to see this, Violet," he says, sympathetic and smooth and so fake that Violet winces. He slides off Grahame as he speaks, smoothing his hair down where Grahame mussed it and making his way toward the door. "You two should probably talk. I'll just get out of your way." Violet steps aside wordlessly as he reaches past her for the doorknob. He winks again (she's really going to have to train him out of that), angled so Grahame can't see, and leaves.
Violet doesn't look at Grahame as she crosses the room, taking a few seconds to get her thoughts in order. She sits on the end of his bed, crossing her legs primly at the ankles, and looks up.
Grahame has taken the opportunity to grab a textbook and put it in his lap, which is, to Violet's mind, the most telling thing he could have done. His face is flushed - with anger or leftover lust? Violet wonders. Not that she could blame him for the latter; she'd be flushed and breathless, too, if Reed ever bothered to kiss her like that. The shock is cracking, amusement starting to take its place. She keeps it together, though, until she gets a look at Grahame's hands, whiteknuckled from gripping the textbook so tightly. Something about that sets her off, and she buries her face in her own hands and starts giggling.
"Violet?" Grahame sounds annoyed and alarmed - thinks she's crying, Violet realizes, which just makes her laugh harder.
She lets herself go for a few minutes, because god has she earned it tonight, before she takes a breath and pulls herself together, letting her hands drop. Grahame's color has settled back to normal, and he's watching her with a narrow-eyed look that doesn't belong on a boyfriend caught cheating by his girlfriend.
And with his brother, at that.
"Care to share the joke?" he asks acidly. And there's no point in pretending anymore, so Violet just says exactly what she's thinking:
"He really is that stupid, isn't he?"
Grahame's expression relaxes.
"Yes," he says, "he is." He smiles, a sharply sarcastic smile that Violet has never seen on his face before, and that suits him in a way that none of the other ones ever did. His real smile, she thinks, and repays it with a rare full-fledged grin of her own.
"Do you think you'll be able to handle that?" Grahame asks.
"I think I was born to handle that," she answers, with all the confidence she's kept hidden away in front of both of the Chandlers until now.
Grahame gives her a long, considering look.
"All right," he says, "you're welcome to it."
"Thanks, Grahame." Violet smirks. "You boys can keep fooling around, though, if you want. I don't mind sharing."
Grahame's smile disappears; he flushes again and glares. Good. Violet doesn't want him getting too comfortable.