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Prove Yourself, Aliens, Vasquez, R prompt 4 (Reply)
Prove Yourself, Aliens, Vasquez, R prompt 4
2011-10-09 02:41 pm (UTC)
(A doubledrabble, sorry. I couldn't keep this one short!)
“Mamoncete!” Vasquez balled a fist, slamming it into the thin metal of the locker door.
“Hey! Hey,” Drake’s hand on her shoulder, another around her ribs: hard, furred bars of muscle and bone. “Fuck him, Vasquez. He’s nothing.”
Her hand stung, bones jarred, but rage was still hot and coursing through her veins. “Sick of his shit, Drake.”
“He ain’t worth it.”
“Thinks I can’t handle it.” She struggled, just to give the energy and anger something to do. And maybe—maybe—to feel the reflexive clutch of Drake’s arms, the bunching of his thighs as he took her weight. Taking her seriously, something that fucking asshole Gorman never did.
“Shows how much he knows,” Drake’s voice had a laughing edge.
“Wants to take me off the gun, man.” She was glad for their position, glad he couldn’t see the tears that prickled the corners of her eyes.
The laugh died from Drake’s voice. “Fuck him. You’re the best gunner in the squad. Well.” A tilt of the head, the beaded dangles from his cap tickled her neck, “second best.”
“Fuck you, too, white boy.”
“You’re on. After you outshoot me.”
“Won’t take long.” Her anger melted to resolve.
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